


Cracked

by epsilonargus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bullying, Hero Complex, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5739997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilonargus/pseuds/epsilonargus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Loving Harry Potter would be a messy thing and Draco knew he wasn’t much of a whole person himself, but Merlin, he wanted to love Harry Potter." An Eighth Year fic, wherein Draco is a delusional mess and Harry is always trying to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracked

**Author's Note:**

> My second Drarry fic ever - hope you guys like it! I certainly had loads of fun writing it (: Leave me a comment to let me know what you think and if I should continue writing these Drarry fics!
> 
> I have to thank my awesome beta, Híril, for the two months this fic has been in the works. Thank you so much for being so patient and reading through the whole thing, which I know turned out to be longer than we both expected!

\---

_ Pieces set to fall, I might hear it all _

\- The Staves, “Dead & Born & Grown”

\---

**_Two months ago_ **

Draco Malfoy stood at the end of the pitch-dark gallery. He flicked his mother’s wand and the candelabras flickered to life down the length of the corridor. Wavery, yellow light danced across the slumbering portraits on the opposite wall.

The portraits covered the entire wall. They came in all shapes and sizes. From the smallest palm-sized painting to the one taller than Draco and twice as wide, they were portraits of dead Malfoys.

Father taught him a lesson here once when he was a child.

“Look at this, Draco. This is your heritage, you are part of a line of great, powerful, pureblooded wizards. You must uphold the Malfoy name. We are inferior to none and superior to all – in particular to those  _ Weasleys. _ Remember, Draco, we are nothing like those beggars. They are blood traitors, they lay down with Muggles and Mudbloods and come up with fleas and mange. They reject our proper pureblood ways. Do you understand me, Draco? Never lower yourself by associating with those people!”

All that in response to a child’s innocent question, “But Father, aren’t the Weasleys pureblooded like us? Aren’t they your friends?” in the middle of a rant against Arthur Weasley for blocking Father’s attempts at selling certain magical items.

Draco began walking down the gallery. It was eerie to see the portraits so still. He wondered absently why they would need to sleep. After all, they didn’t have any other human needs.

He passed countless paintings of thin, pointy-faced Malfoys with slick blonde hair. All the Malfoys had the same sneering look, that particular way of looking at people as wizard’s chess pieces ,  waiting to be manipulated.

For the past eighteen years of his life, Draco had honed and perfected the Malfoy sneer. Nothing was better to hide behind than disdain and contempt. People were usually too busy reacting to those emotions to see anything else.

He came to a stop before the massive portrait of Armand Malfoy, the founder of Malfoy Manor. Armand was an enormous, barrel-chested man, dressed in robes with military-style braiding. He was sprawled on the throne-like chair he was painted with, head drooped into his chest, snoring.

Draco was tempted to wake him and ask if he would have bent his head to the Dark Lord. He thought Armand Malfoy would have. It was a forbidden topic, but Draco knew Armand had served the Muggle king, William the Conqueror.

His upper lip curled. All his parents’ pride in pureblood sanctity and superiority and the only reason they had their riches and manor and status was because their ancestor had performed a few tricks for a  _ Muggle _ . The hypocrisy of it all curdled in his mouth, bitter as wormwood.

The Dark Lord was no avenging hero for the pureblood. He was a mad man, plain and simple, and the only thing he ever cared for was himself. Still, Draco understood why his father and other sane men would follow Lord Voldemort.

As he knelt in front of  his new master, arm outstretched to receive the Dark Mark, he felt the pitiless, immense power locked in Lord Voldemort’s pale, cruel form. He painted his path with blood and exulted in it. Those who followed enjoyed the same filthy glory, but they hadn’t been the instigator and that knowledge was sweet, exhilarating freedom.

The Dark Mark seared for three days after it was inscribed into his skin.

The whole war was Draco trying to hold it together, even as he knew everything was bone china dust falling between his fingers. He now knew purebloods bled the same way as Mudbloods and Muggles did: red, thick syrupy red, oh Merlin, so much red, too much of it, stop it, stop it,  _ stoppitstoppitstoppit _ !

Draco gasped softly, pressing his knuckles against his forehead. His heart racing in his chest, he focused on the sounds of the portraits’ soft snoring. He was not there, he was here in the gallery and the war was over. _It’s over_ , he repeated to himself. _It’s over and Father_ _is dead._

Pain rippled through Draco’s chest and he dug his knuckles in harder. He was trembling, the cold of the empty gallery stealing under his skin and settling into his bones.

The letter had come that morning, its tone crisp and professional.  _ We regret to inform you … you have our deepest condolences … Arrangements will be made for the body. _ Draco’s world tilted and he staggered back, dropping the letter back onto the table. Mother sat at the breakfast table, thin and upright and too pale. After a while, she stood up and walked back to her room wordlessly, not looking at Draco. She had been in her room all day.

Father was dead, his last moments spent within a dark, damp cell, huddled on a cold wet floor, the screams of his neighbours echoing around him. Draco had been released after two months, but Father –  _ Father _ – had died in Azkaban.

Pushing away the despair that loomed black, great and deadly, Draco raised his mother’s wand, pointed it at the portrait of Armand Malfoy and said, “ _ Incendio. _ ”

Flames leapt up the ornate gilded frame. He watched fire encroach on the painting, melting the colours together, eating away Armand Malfoy’s feet. He watched the painted figure of Armand Malfoy wake and shout in horror. Before Armand could escape into another portrait, Draco swept his arm wide and shouted, “ _ Incendio totalus! _ ”

The wall of portraits burst into flames, the heat scorching against Draco’s face. He took a step back. The portraits were awake and screaming. The Malfoys had put in place spells to protect their portraits from being destroyed, but he was the Malfoy lord now and they were his property and he had all the power to destroy his own property.

Canvases split and paint fell off in curls. Wreathed in flames, Malfoy ancestors shouted and hurled abuse at Draco, shaking their fists in vain. Sharp pointy features and shiny blonde hair began to melt together into a white-grey mess.

Mother found him frozen in front of Armand Malfoy’s charred painting. Around them, the house elves rushed to put out the fire before it spread to the rest of the manor.

“Why?” she asked, putting her arm around his shoulders, pulling him away.

“It doesn’t mean a thing,” he said, still staring at the blackened mess of Armand’s portrait. “Pureblood, Muggle, Mudblood, blood traitor – it doesn’t mean a thing.”

Draco Malfoy’s world was cracked bone china beyond  _ Reparo _ , and it broke.

\---

_ So they dug your grave and the masquerade will come calling out at the mess you made _

\- Imagine Dragons, “Demons”

\---

**_Now_ **

“You don’t fucking deserve to be alive,” the low guttural voice hissed above him, punctuating the point with a hard kick to Draco’s stomach.

Draco, his teeth gritted, managed not to scream.

“Let’s go,” a girl’s voice called from somewhere further away and his assailants spat before running off.

Warm spittle slid down his forehead and into his blindfolded eyes as Draco listened to the footsteps recede into the distance. They had grabbed him while he was on the way back up to the eighth year dorms from the library.  _ Obscuro _ and  _ Incarcerous _ , and it didn’t matter that they left him his wand because it was still up his sleeve and he couldn’t move his arm.

He lay there long enough for his bound arms and legs to start to ache, for the sharp, hot pain of the blows on his torso to dull. He lay in darkness and waited for someone to rescue him.

_ It could be worse _ , he reflected and was immediately disgusted with himself. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into an empty corridor to be beaten up when he didn’t have a chance to defend himself. Did they  _ think  _ he wanted to be here in Hogwarts? He was only here because the Wizengamot had decided to commute the rest of his sentence to a year at Hogwarts.

He scoffed internally. It was no mercy. They knew bloody well what he would have to go through when they threw him in here with the people who had been on the  _ right _ side of the war. He had been lucky though; he had been attacked like this only two other times since term started last month. He had been able to fend them off the other three times.

Who  _ they _ were, he couldn’t tell. Those who failed were usually the younger students, stupid in their vindictiveness. Those who succeeded always blindfolded him first. He had to admit  _ they _ possessed a modicum of intelligence at least.

A house elf eventually found him. She wanted to bring him to the hospital wing, but he politely refused and soon sent her on her way, the elf looking doubtful. He smiled wryly. It was a good thing house elves didn’t care for wizard politics, or else he would be served burnt eggs and charred meat every meal.

He was in the corridor lined with the tribute plaques to those who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They always brought him here as if doing it in front of their dead friends and families made their acts honourable. Draco stared at the fifty names scrawled forever into the wall, feeling grey and shivery. His head swam with exhaustion, and the moonlight streaming in through the windows seemed to waver.

He caught himself before he fell over and leaned back against the wall. Best to get back before Mrs Norris came skulking around. Not even the war could have dissuaded Filch from his notion that students were the worst affliction Hogwarts had ever seen.

Working carefully and as quickly as he could, Draco cast the various healing spells he had become very adept at performing. Split skin knitted together, reddened spots dulled into grey-green bruises, which he would deal with later with the bruise removal paste he had begged from Pomfrey. The only injuries he couldn’t deal with were bruised and broken bones.

He stood up, pushing against the wall for support. He ached all over from the half a night he had spent on the hard stone floor, but he didn’t think he had any fractured or broken bones. Satisfied, he picked up his bag and began hobbling back to the eighth year dorms.

The corridors were striped by moonlight and shadow, and with the portraits snoozing in their frames on the walls, Draco could almost believe he was the only creature awake in the castle. He was safe for the moment; no time safer than just after a fresh beating.

As Draco walked, he heard and saw the echoes of war. Here, he watched as Amycus Carrow performed the Cruciatus Curse on a boy who had cheeked him. There, he watched as Crabbe and Goyle used the Conjunctivitis Curse on Seamus Finnigan and turned him to the Carrows for detention when he retaliated. And in that spot there, he had seen Lavender Brown land beneath Fenrir Greyback. His ears ached with the sounds of screams and curses and jinxes being fired all around him.

It took him a while to climb the four floors up to the eighth year dorms. The returning seventh years were christened “eighth years”, and due to a lack of space in their House dorms, were moved to the west wing, where their common room overlooked a hidden, overgrown courtyard. Draco silently cursed every step up to the fourth floor.

By the time he made it to the suit of armour that marked the entrance to the common floor, he was panting. He tapped his wand on the false diamond set into the pommel of the sword, flipped up the armour’s visor and whispered, grimacing, “Troll’s bottom.” The stupid password was Weasley and Finnigan’s stupid suggestion. The wall behind the suit of armour shimmered and solidified into a heavy, iron-studded door. He pushed it open with relief, already thinking of his bed.

There was still someone in the common room – of course, it had to be Potter. Draco bit back a groan. The Boy Who Lived sat in an armchair next to the fireplace. He had been leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and looked up when Draco came into the room. He was dressed in a T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, the firelight dancing over the muscles of his arms.

“Malfoy,” he said with some surprise.

Draco nodded curtly, tearing his eyes away, and made for the doors that led to the dorms.

“Where were you?” Potter asked, tone sharpened by suspicion.

Draco paused, his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath to curb the irritation that surged through him. “The library,” he said without turning around.

“It’s been closed for hours,” Potter replied. “Did something happen?”

Draco worked his jaw in aggravation before taking another deep breath and saying, “Good night, Potter.”. He opened the door and closed it quickly, cutting off Potter’s shouted “Malfoy!”. He headed into his dorm room – thank Merlin it wasn’t the same as Potter’s – and collapsed onto the bed between Macmillan’s and Longbottom’s.

He closed his eyes, listening to Longbottom’s snorting snores and Finch-Fletchley’s thunderous ones from across the room. He hadn’t been able to get used to such communal living in the beginning; apparently, it was only in Slytherin that there were two students per room. Well, at least the snores were better than the screams of Azkaban.

He had Potter to thank for saving him from that fate, of course. Saint Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, had spoken up for him at his trial. Draco listened to Potter’s testimony about the Deathly Hallows and marvelled that he had been dancing to suit Potter’s tune without even knowing it. Even Mistress Fate wove robes to fit Potter when he called for it.

Draco flipped onto his front with more force than necessary, the bedsprings protesting beneath him, kicking his shoes off and yanking the blankets over him.  _ Damned Potter _ . He had spoken up for Draco and yet he still continued to treat Draco like he was a suspicious rat. The way Potter questioned him and watched him with narrowed eyes –  _ Bloody Potter. _

Besides the time he had gotten his wand back from Potter on the Hogwarts Express, he had done his best to stay out of Potter’s way, which was quite a feat considering that the eighth years all had the same classes now. Let Potter be suspicious and snoop all he wanted. Unlike sixth year, this time , Draco had nothing left to hide.

The world already knew he was scum.

\---

_ Read between these lines, unspoken weight of words _

\- Alessia Cara, “Stone”

\---

“Draco!” Luna waved cheerily from where she sat curled up in the Pit with Potter, the two Weasleys, Granger and Longbottom.

“Hullo,” he said, startled; he had been looking down at his planner when he entered.

The common room was filled with the pre-dinner crowd, a number of non-eighth years thrown into the mix. Most of them were in the Pit as well, the sunken part in the middle of the room covered in thick carpets and piled with cushions in every House colour.

The late evening sun spilled through the ceiling-to-floor windows that made up three of the room’s five sides, the orange-red light painting a picture of warmth and harmony – excepting the Slytherins, of course. Most of them sat at the low, cushy armchairs that lined the sides of the room. Daphne was sitting at one of the secretaries and looked up when she heard Luna’s call.

“Come join us,” Luna said, patting the spot next to her.

“Er,” Draco hedged.

Potter was frowning, face twisted with annoyance, green eyes narrowed behind those hideous glasses; he always wore that expression in Draco’s presence these days. Draco pushed away the ire that rose in response. Like he had any power to oppose Potter now. Oddly, Granger and Weasley looked at Draco as if he was still a threat. Well, old habits died hard, he supposed. The Weasley girl, Potter’s girlfriend, on the other hand, merely studied Draco curiously. He noted that she was sitting rather too close to Longbottom. He looked quickly at Potter to see if he had noticed, but Potter was still glaring at him.

“No,” he said to Luna. “I have to  go – Daphne’s waiting for me,” he nodded at Daphne, who was watching him in amusement. He almost groaned thinking of what she would have to say later.

“Oh, alright,” Luna said. “We’ll have Saturday to chat.”

Saturdays were the days he spent with Luna looking for Hopping Chinsnorters and other creatures she was convinced were native to Hogwarts and had to be studied.

“Right,” he returned her smile with genuine warmth; he felt Potter’s eyes boring into him. “See you then.”

He turned and fled quickly to Daphne’s side, drawing a chair up next to her and keeping his back firmly to the Pit.

“Potter’s still staring at you,” she reported with a smirk.

“Probably worried about the evil Slytherins planning something nefarious that the good, strong Gryffindors would have to foil,” Draco muttered.

“Probably. Potter does look very frustrated,” she said thoughtfully. “Now his girlfriend seems to be teasing him about something. He’s turning quite red.”

“I don’t need to hear about Potter flirting,” he snapped, ignoring the slight twinge in his chest.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “My, you are testy. Were the little ones being particularly stupid this afternoon?”

“They’re not stupid,” Draco said defensively. “Or at least they won’t be once I’m done with them.”

Every Thursday, Draco tutored the first year Slytherins. Thank Merlin, they weren’t all idiots, although he suspected Tom Federicks had some troll blood in him. The tubby boy had once held his wand from the  _ wrong end _ .

Daphne gave a delicate snort and began shoving her things into her bag. “Well, let’s go down to dinner then. I’m starving.”

“Okay, give me a minute. I need to grab my books, can probably squeeze in a spot of studying after dinner.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I’m starving  _ now _ , Malfoy. Let’s go!”

“I’m leaving without you!” she called after him as he ran to his dorm.

She was still waiting for him when he came back, of course. He smirked at her. As they passed the Pit on their way out, he saw that the Weasley girl was still snuggling up with Longbottom. Potter was talking to Luna, his posture stiff and unyielding, his fist on his lap clenched.

Draco looked away, frowning. He hardly thought Potter would be afraid to confront Weasley if she was cheating on him. And what was Longbottom thinking? He always figured Longbottom for the foolishly honourable sort, not the kind to nick other people’s girlfriends and so blatantly too.

“Did you see that?” he asked Daphne as they headed down to the Great Hall.

“What?”

“Weasley … the female Weasley. Did you see the way she was sitting with Longbottom?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“What about it?” Draco repeated, irritated by her flippancy. “She’s cheating on Potter! Salazar, why  _ is _ she cheating on him? Potter is the most attractive bachelor in Wizarding Britain right now and Longbottom is good-looking enough, but he’s no Potter. She’s doing it so openly too. If Potter’s rabid fans find out, they wouldn’t forgive her.”

Daphne was looking at him strangely.

“What?” he frowned at her.

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “I didn’t think you cared about Potter’s love life so much.”

“I don’t,” he said a little too quickly.

She smirked at him.

“I don’t,” he said again. “It’s only … I was only … commenting on it. It’s weird, that’s all.”

“Sure,” Daphne said with amusement. “Weird.”

He glared at her.

With Pansy taking her chances at a new life in France, Goyle working on a family farm, and Crabbe dead, Draco’s social circle had neatly imploded. Blaise, Theo, Millie and Tracey were polite, but did not go out of their way to be friendly. They had no reason to; he had always been an arsey prick and it wasn’t like the Malfoy name had any influence now.

Before the war, Daphne Greengrass was one of the few who didn’t laugh at his jokes, so he had always cut her out on purpose, which only encouraged the others to do the same. He didn’t think she had many friends besides her younger sister Astoria. It still baffled him that Daphne had deigned to return that first hesitant greeting at the start of term. He was curious enough to be tempted to ask, but that wasn’t the Slytherin way.

A month into their … could he call it a friendship? Alliance, perhaps. A month into their alliance and Draco was still wary of Daphne. Willowy, blonde and blue-eyed, the pretty pureblood was as Slytherin as they came, which was why he constantly wondered what she had to gain from hanging around him. Nothing, which more than alarmed him.

It didn’t help that unlike Pansy, who was always more interested in Pansy, Daphne was very perceptive. She had gotten it into her head that Draco had a crush on Potter. Draco didn’t have a crush on Potter; he  _ had _ once and he thought there was something there but no – that was in the past and he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Still, despite her sly insinuations and subtle jabs, Daphne was good company – and people were less likely to attack him when he had someone with him.

They came to the Entrance Hall crowded with other students heading in for dinner. Peeves was floating above the crowd, upside down and blowing raspberries. When he spotted Draco on the stairs, his squished little face split into a wide grin. Draco immediately tensed.

“Draco Malfoy wanks to boys,” Peeves announced, his shrill voice ringing across the Entrance Hall.

The poltergeist had a more deliberately malicious mind than Draco had realised. Far from opportunistic, the twisted little man had chosen a moment when the crowd was largest.

He narrowed his eyes and continued walking. Daphne followed him quietly. They ignored the startled glances people shot them. When the poltergeist realised he had failed to bait Draco, he swooped after him, rags trailing in the air.

“Draco Malfoy wanks to boys,” he repeated with a malevolent sneer. “You don’t want that known, do you, blondie? People talking about how you’re not out of the closet yet, little snake.”

Not out of the closet? He exchanged an incredulous look with Daphne. He had never made a secret out of his sexuality. Anybody who cared to know could easily find out that he was gay. This was the best whoever was spreading these rumours to Peeves could do?  _ Pathetic. _

He continued walking, pretending the poltergeist was not bobbing up and down above his head, squawking  _ Draco Malfoy wanks to boys _ four more times in a row. Peeves would get bored soon enough without a response.

Abruptly, Peeves dropped down in front of them, forcing them to a stop. He hovered in the air, taut with frustration. His eyes alighted on something behind Draco and a wicked look of triumph danced across his squashed-turnip face.

“Draco Malfoy wanks to naughty thoughts about Harry Potter.”

Draco closed his eyes briefly. Daphne grabbed his arm and muttered, “Let’s go.”

But Draco  _ had _ to look and he turned. Potter stood behind him with his friends on the stairs. Draco met Potter’s wide eyes and the other boy visibly flinched, flushing from hairline to neck.

For a moment, Draco was stung. A rapier-sharp barb was on the tip of his tongue – something about Potter’s insecure masculinity – when he remembered that the world was a Snitch for Potter’s taking and a Malfoy was a tolerated Jarvey.

He turned away with difficulty. Peeves was grinning, smug of the ensuing chaos of his malice. The crowded Entrance Hall paused, holding its breath for Draco Malfoy’s response.

Harry Potter was beyond the reach of Draco’s irritation, but Peeves wasn’t. Daphne was tugging at his sleeve, hissing at him to just  _ go. _ He jerked his arm out of her grasp.

“Peeves,” Draco began pleasantly. “Would  _ you _ like to tell me who is the Slytherin Ghost?”

Peeves blanched and he drifted a little further away. “Eighth years have no Houses now! You don’t even sleep in the Slytherin dungeons anymore. All of you grey-haired oldies sleep up in the eighth year dorms!”

“Yes,” Draco spat, “but the Bloody Baron is obliging to all Slytherins, the gentleman that he is. Oh, and his endearing idiosyncrasy, he doesn’t condone gossip – I remember very clearly the lesson he taught a first year for gossiping. It took us days to find the poor fellow …”

Draco was immediately gratified by Peeves’ horror-stricken look. He hoped the mere threat of the Bloody Baron was enough to chase him away. He was sweating profusely under his robes, horribly aware of the eyes on him.

His stomach clenched when he saw a sly look slip across Peeves’ face, slimy as day-old grease. He should have remembered that poltergeists could not be persuaded by reason.

“But the Bloody Baron wouldn’t help  _ you _ ,” Peeves crowed. “Not when he finds out you wank to boys!” The last four words were shrieked out at maximum volume. Peeves was right at least; the Bloody Baron, born in a far less tolerant time, could not condone homosexuality.

Draco’s patience snapped. He could feel Potter’s gaze burning into his back. It was far more humiliating to have Potter witness the poltergeist’s pathetic attempt at humiliation than the actual attempt itself. What if Potter really thought Draco wanked to fantasies of him? It wasn’t  _ un _ true, but Draco had always hoarded those humiliating moments of weakness like a nesting dragon. Now to have it flung in his face so openly …

His shame and frustration roiling in his chest, hot and itchy, Draco drew his wand, and fired a Bat Bogey Hex at Peeves.

The poltergeist wheeled away in mid-air, wailing about Death Eaters and vicious attacks, the explosion of noise leaving exclamations and whispers in its wake. Draco sneered at the watching crowd and marched off with Daphne by his side even though he itched to run off in the opposite direction.

People moved aside for him, a one-man public humiliation contagion. Chatter bubbled in his wake. Peeves’ voice had apparently carried into the Great Hall. When he finally reached his usual spot at the Slytherin table, the hall was a boiling cauldron of vindictive half-truths and outrageous rumours. Some of the first years he tutored goggled at him until he threatened to give them more assignments. They immediately scattered, throwing him dirty looks.

He dropped heavily in his seat across from Daphne instead of beside her where he usually sat, his teeth clenched to hold back his groan. He had no desire to catch any glimpses of the Gryffindor table tonight.

“What a little menace,” Daphne said in disgust. “Why wasn’t he chased from the castle years ago?”

“He’s part of Hogwarts like the Great Hall and the classrooms,” Draco said, remembering what Luna had told him. “They tried, of course, but it generally ended in disaster.”

Daph n e gave him a disbelieving look and brushed aside his trivia with a flick of her wrist. “Not the point here, my dear. Somebody put him up to it,” she said, scanning the Great Hall with narrowed eyes. “What a stupid little prank. I wonder how they convinced him to do it.”

“Did you see the way Potter looked at me?” Draco groaned, wanting to bury his face in his hands but he knew people were watching and he refused to appear beaten.

“Yeah, he looked … interesting,” Daphne said thoughtfully.

“Interesting?” Draco echoed. “Salazar’s balls, Potter looked as if he wished I was back in Azkaban!”

She raised her eyebrows. “How the hell did you read that in his blushing?”

“He wasn’t blushing! Well, not that good kind of blushing. He was fucking humiliated! Even now when he thought he would be free of me, little shits had to link my name to his.  _ Merlin _ ,” Draco poured out a goblet of pumpkin juice, grateful that his hand wasn’t shaking badly.

“He  _ was _ embarrassed,” Daphne conceded. “But I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was humiliated. He was uncomfortable, everybody was staring at him after all. You’re very concerned about his reaction in particular, Draco.”

He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of pumpkin juice he didn’t taste. “Don’t you come at me with your  _ ideas _ again. You are imagining things, Greengrass. Sod off.”

“Really,” she levelled him with a withering look. “So you’re  _ not _ in love with Harry Potter?”

He sputtered, choking on his pumpkin juice and looking around hastily. For once, he was grateful for the space at the Slytherin table. So few Slytherins had returned to Hogwarts – and fewer sorted to it this year – that lengths of the table were like deathday banquets, surfaces piled with food for nobody to eat.

Daphne snorted. Before he could disabuse her of the ridiculous notion she had, her younger sister Astoria came bounding down the aisle.

“Draco, oh, Salazar, I heard what happened!” she said breathlessly.

She threw herself down next to Draco, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He wrinkled his nose, nudging his elbow into her side. She smelled strongly of acrid potions and brimstone. She ignored his jab and held on tighter.

The girl invaded people’s personal space s with the subtlety of a Giant Squid, and no amount of reminders about propriety, bribery, or threats could shake her off.

“The entire Great Hall has heard it,” Daphne snickered.

“Poor Draco,” Astoria squeezed his arm and pulled away to grab a plate of roast beef. “Bloody unlucky for Peeves to pick you to bully.”

“Don’t curse,” her older sister said, wrinkling her nose. “Mother would send you for more deportment classes if she knew.”

“Then she mustn’t find out,” Astoria replied, cutting enthusiastically into her beef.

There was no threat in her words; she knew Daphne would never betray her. On occasion, Draco envied their closeness and wondered if having siblings might have filled the silence of the empty corridors of Malfoy Manor. Then he would remember he rather liked having the entirety of his parents’ attention and dismiss the bout of foolish wistfulness.

“Well, I don’t like it,” Daphne said coolly. “You sound uncouth.”

Astoria shrugged, too busy chewing her meat. Draco watched with some fascination as the girl shovelled more meat into her stuffed mouth. She ate like a starved Hippogriff. Deportment classes would be wasted on her.

“So this is what you learn from Brian,” Daphne continued. “How to speak like the lower class and how to eat like a barbarian. Honestly, dating him has only made your manners worse, Toria. You’ll end up utterly hopeless if you continue dating him.”

Astoria swallowed her food and snapped, “Shut up, Daph. Don’t be a bitch!”

Brian Green was Astoria’s new, Hufflepuff boyfriend. Daphne disliked him severely and was always trying to encourage a breakup. Privately, Draco thought Brian was harmless and boring , and that Daphne was only jealous because she had just broken up with her harpy of a girlfriend.

Sipping his pumpkin juice, Draco focused on the sisters’ argument instead of the stares lacerating his rigid back. Six months in this post-war world was hardly time enough to lessen the vitriol that came his way and he still found himself shrinking beneath it.  _ Weak and stupid, _ he scolded himself. He needed to get used to his new reality.

“… can always marry Draco!” Astoria declared, throwing her arm around Draco again. “You’d marry me, wouldn’t you, Draco?”

Hauled into a fracas he had only been half listening to, he did a quick study of the situation. Daphne returned his stare balefully, blue eyes calm as a deceptively deep pool of water. Astoria was too close, breathing into Draco’s face a smell of chewed meat.

“Of course I would, love,” Draco said and, knowing that half the Great Hall had to be watching him, he leaned in and pressed his lips against Astoria’s warm, sticky cheek.

He could hear the chatter increase in volume. Astoria stared at him, astounded. Daphne gave a snort of laughter.

“But Draco, you’re gay.”

Daphne burst out laughing then.

“Seems like that’s still news to half of Hogwarts. Do me a favour, won’t you, Toria? If you are so ready to be my wife, won’t you be my beard?” He slipped an arm around her waist.

“Are you a great big romantic?” Daphne guffawed.

“I can’t be your beard,” Astoria protested, ignoring her sister and wriggling under his arm. “I have Brian and I don’t think he knows you’re gay. Merlin, he’ll get the wrong idea from this.”

Draco tightened his arm around her waist when she was about to pull away. “But you said you wanted to marry  _ me _ , Toria dear.” He gave her a simpering smile. “Or are you not enough of a friend to do this for me? Be my beard for life?”

She was horror-struck. “This is payback for touching you all the time, isn’t it?”

“Be my beard for life!” Daphne repeated to herself, breaking in a fresh gale of laughter.

“This is payback for breathing on me with beef breath,” Draco replied, trailing his hand up and down her side leisurely.

Astoria glared at him from the corners of her eyes. “Brian is going to be so mad. You are picking Daph’s side over mine!”

“Darling,” he leaned in close enough to see the green in her hazel eyes, “you said you want to marry me. Might be good to break up with Brian, don’t you think?”

“You two can be such dicks sometimes!” she exclaimed and surged to her feet.

She knocked Draco’s arm away and sailed away to join her seventh-year friends, holding her plateful of half-eaten beef. Draco smirked and waved when the group of them turned to look at him.

“That was masterfully done. You chased my lovable but annoying little sister away and you’ve thrown some doubt on the  _ Draco Malfoy wanks to boys _ shit,” Daphne said, wiping tears of laughter away.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he scrunched up his nose. “She really had the most awful beef breath. ”

Daphne rolled her eyes and turned back to her dinner.

“Now’s a good time to make your move, don’t you think?” she asked in a light, conversational tone. “Now that Potter knows you’re gay and all.”

“I’m not making a bloody move on Potter,” he replied calmly, wishing that he hadn’t chased Astoria away after all. “And if you’re going to keep talking about this, I’m leaving.”

“You’re exaggerating. Potter didn’t look humiliated. Look, he’s staring at you again. He’s always doing that,” Daphne gestured with her fork over his shoulder.

He stiffened immediately, cringing internally when he heard a sudden burst of laughter behind him. His confrontation with Peeves would be extensively discussed for at least the rest of the night. No point tormenting himself here; he had no appetite anyway.

“I’m heading back to the dorms,” he muttered, getting to his feet and flinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Daphne said with exasperation. “Sit down. You haven’t eaten a thing.”

“I’ll see you later.”

She rolled her eyes and waved at him airily. Being friends with her was startlingly easy because she hardly ever minded being alone. He was often tempted to ask her to teach him how to be so.

He made his way out of the Great Hall, walking with deliberate nonchalance. When he caught the eyes of those who stared, he sneered at them. He didn’t care, he told himself. He hoped he was more convincing to strangers than he was to himself.

It was only when he was down a corridor away from the Great Hall and Entrance Hall that he allowed himself to unravel a little. He groaned aloud, the guttural sound echoing down the empty corridor, and scrubbed his hands over his face. For fuck’s sake, he had been doing so well to keep himself out of the spotlight, out of the main rumour mill.

People had scathingly called him a lucky bastard and he knew well enough that he was. Sure, he was often bruised all over and people shoved him in the corridors, but he had Daphne and … Luna. The teachers weren’t treating him differently even if they looked at him like he was a Venomous Tentacula and he knew he  _ could _ graduate with the straight Os he promised Mother.

It seemed his luck was thinning. Fate, or whatever governed this shitty world, clearly believed he had not been punished enough. Draco sighed, leaning against the castle wall. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cool, rough stone.

Of course he hadn’t been punished enough – he wasn’t dead or locked up, was he? Draco Malfoy, the Last Free Death Eater, the _Daily Prophet_ had blared the day Rookwood was captured.

Draco scratched his left forearm, scowling. It might be paranoid of him, but he had always seen the Dark Mark as the Dark Lord’s remote killing device.  _ If it could be used to summon, it could be used to kill _ was his fevered belief in the days spent recovering from being branded.

He knew better now. The Dark Mark didn’t kill immediately. It killed its bearers with savouring slowness – their master’s last revenge on Death Eaters who dared survive him. After all, as a known Death Eater, what hope would one have to live for, in a world where victims of his former master’s reign triumphed and prevailed?

He pulled his hand away from his left arm when he felt blood well up. The Dark Mark looked worse for wear now, covered in half-healed scabs. Sighing tiredly, Draco began moving again. He could hear footsteps in the distance and didn’t fancy being caught alone in a dark corridor.

He hitched his bag higher up his shoulder and made for the stairs at the end of the corridor. As he climbed the stairs, he flipped through his planner. Every entry was filled with the subjects he wanted to revise that day and the number of hours he wanted to spend on each topic. He grimaced. He was already behind schedule by two topics. He would have to forgo that block of free time on Saturday to make up for it.

A Ravenclaw coming up behind him knocked into his elbow and he dropped his planner.

“Watch it!” he snarled, glaring as he bent to pick it up.

The dark-haired girl merely turned away and hurried on. He scowled. Rude bitch. He stowed his planner away and continued the arduous climb.

He was at the top of the stairs when the staircase swung violently to the left. Caught off-guard, Draco staggered, losing his balance. It shuddered to a sudden stop in mid-air and he slammed into the stone banister, his body thrown forward. For a second, he hung over the edge, staring straight down at the mess of stone staircases criss-crossing and overlapping. He scrabbled for a hold, his hands sweaty and clumsy. He caught the banister with his left hand when his heavy bag – slung on his right shoulder – swung and its weight dragged him forwards.

He was tipping over.

It was too absurd. Draco could not feel anything but astonishment and a little disappointment. His bag slipped from his grasp and plummeted down and he was next.

Someone grabbed the back of his robes and yanked. He tumbled backwards, tangled with his saviour in a mess of robes, flailing limbs and fire-red hair as they rolled down the stairs uncontrollably. There was no soft landing, only harder stone at the bottom of the hard stone steps.

They lay there, breathless. The shock only kept the pain at bay for a few seconds. When the pain struck, they began to groan and to attempt detangling themselves.

Draco rolled onto his front, touching the back of his head, and gasped when it sent a jolt of pain through him. Carefully, he sat up, holding his throbbing head, and stared at Ginny Weasley.

“Anything broken?” she gasped, wincing and grabbing her left side.

“No,” he said in relief.

He patted his pockets and found his wand in one piece. Merlin knew the Malfoys couldn’t afford a new wand at the moment, if Ollivander would even sell to them. He was about to ask if she was well, but she was already scrambling to her feet and offering him a hand.

“We should still go to the hospital wing,” she was saying. “That fall was bloody painful – Madam Pomfrey should take a look at us. Did you hit your head?”

She grabbed his arm, and hauled him to his feet.

“Er … yes,” Draco mumbled, pulling away from her.

“Blimey,” she peered at him. “Let’s go then.”

She set off down the corridor. Draco hesitated.

“I have never seen a staircase do that before,” she continued, not looking back to see if he was following. “That was bloody odd – and dangerous.”

Draco found himself hurrying after her. She glanced at him when he reached her, her face creased with a severe frown.

“The stairs don’t usually do that, do they?” Weasley asked. “I’ve never seen that happen before. You?”

He shook his head. “This is the first time it’s happened to me. I haven’t heard of stairs moving like that either.”

“Bloody hell,” she scowled. “Must have something to do with the damage the castle suffered. The fighting must have made the magic all queer somehow.”

Draco flinched. Her words were acid-washed whiplashes. Whenever the war was mentioned in his presence, it was mentioned as intentional accusations. Hearing it being mentioned so casually was a new sort of pain he hadn’t thought possible.

She noticed his reaction and her face froze in horror. Her silence – unusual after  all  the prattling she had been doing – danced between them as the grey corpses of her dead brother and friends. She broke it by inhaling sharply and flinging out a hand to touch his shoulder.

They stopped in the middle of the empty corridor. Somewhere below, a door opened and the sound of the Great Hall filtered down the castle’s silent corridors. Draco couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

The worst thing was that Draco had always had a grudging respect for Ginny Weasley, even when he had used to despise her and her family. She was a great blazing Gryffindor, but she pursued what she wanted with the cunning focus of a Slytherin.

She wasn’t pretty – her gold-red hair, multitude of freckles and large nose were features too strong to belong all on one face – but Merlin, was she attractive. Her eyes were strong and true and everything Draco could admire in a person. Inevitable that Potter should love her.

Weasley was struggling to find words. “I didn’t mean – that is – I wasn’t trying to – it’s not  _ your _ fault – well, it sort was, during fifth year, and your sixth year – but – oh, I’m not  _ blaming _ you, Malfoy! You’re a bloody tosser, yes, but you’re now as miserable as the rest of us – maybe even more so.

“Anyway, my point is I didn’t say that to  _ blame _ you or anything. I wasn’t thinking. It’s just – we don’t really talk, do we, people on either sides. Saying what I did to my friends wouldn’t have mattered – not the way it does to you – you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, only to get her to shut up.

Horrid enough that she had saved him – she had to make it unbearable by being nice and considerate and bloody  _ good _ about his sodding feelings.

Her face turned flaming red, clashing horribly with her hair. She looked away and began walking. “Let’s get to Madam Pomfrey,” she said brusquely.

Draco obeyed, his mouth bitter with the tang of suffering undeserved compassion.

\---

_ Well, nothing's gonna hurt me with my eyes shut _

\- Years & Years, “Eyes Shut”

\---

Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at Draco and Weasley and assumed they had been fighting when they tumbled down the stairs. The Weasley women’s tempers were infamous. Amusing as it was to watch the matron threaten to write to the Weasley mother, Draco had to correct Madam Pomfrey.

“The staircase moved while you were on it?” she pursed her lips in bemusement. “I’ll inform the Headmistress. It is bad enough what you students do to injure yourself – I cannot have the castle helping you along as well.

“Well, into bed, the two of you. You’ll have to stay the night for observation. Look at the sight of you, Mr Malfoy: dark eye circles, far too thin. No sense wearing yourself out studying if you are not well enough to take the exams in the end!”

Draco ignored Weasley’s amused smirk. With a wave of her wand, Pomfrey erected privacy screens around two beds and told them to strip.

It felt acutely wrong, sitting in his underpants on a bed next to Potter’s girlfriend, with only a white sheet between them. He could make out her silhouette through the screen. He started guiltily when she spoke, feeling as if he had been caught ogling her somehow.

“Malfoy, about Peeves … are you alright?”

He remembered her standing next to Potter on the stairs and felt annoyance twist in his chest.  _ She _ had no right to be decent when she was Potter’s girlfriend and she was  _ cheating _ on him. He was half tempted to confront her about it.  _ Why in the name of Merlin’s balls would you cheat on  _ Harry bloody Potter _? _ But he had no proof, only suspicions and a gut feeling.

“Don’t be a prat. I saved your life,” she reminded him; damn her for reminding him.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly.

Thank Merlin for the sheet between them. He could not have managed it otherwise.

Weasley did not respond. Draco shifted uncomfortably. Of course, a Gryffindor would think this poor show of gratitude insincere and cowardly. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to try again.

In the silence that followed, Draco wondered if he was cursed to always be saved by Gryffindors. She hated him as much as her brother and boyfriend did, but like them, she had saved his life.

Pomfrey returned. She tended to Weasley first, clucking her tongue over the mess of bruises and cuts. Draco listened with some guilt; she was hurt on his account after all. When it was Draco’s turn, he was submitted to the same scolding ministrations. It was comforting, Pomfrey’s soft cold hands and murmured healing spells.

She finished up, drew back the screen and left them to rest with two bottles of sleeping potion on the bedside table between them. Draco was about to down his portion when Potter came bursting through the doors.

“Mr Potter!” Pomfrey snapped from opposite the room, where she was tending to a second-year with a stubborn cold.

“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Potter said hastily.

He walked to Weasley’s bedside, his eyes fixed on Draco. Draco felt inexplicably naked, stripped to his waist, pale skin covered in slime-green paste.

“What happened?” Potter asked, finally looking away.

He watched Potter take Weasley’s hand and told himself firmly that he felt nothing. Damn Daphne for putting the ridiculous idea in his head. No, he was over his childish little obsession with Potter. That had ended when Potter had been so disgusted with him, he tried to kill him in the girls’ bathroom. _Remember that, Malfoy, you idiot?_

But he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered on Potter’s messy hair, just perfect for him to grab and pull his head back so Draco could nuzzle that insanely attractive jawline. He couldn’t help the way he still wanted Potter just a little, deep down,  _ very  _ deep down.

Weasley jabbed her thumb at Draco. “The stairs changed while he was on them. He nearly fell over the edge, I pulled him back.”

Concern flickered over Potter’s face. “Are you okay?”

Draco gestured to his torso, where lurid purple-reds were blooming over his pale skin. “Look for yourself, Potter,” he drawled.

Potter looked. His eyes slid from Draco’s shoulders, across his pecs and down to his flat stomach where a trail of white fuzz led below the blanket. Morgana’s left tit, his eyes were  _ lingering. _ He had no right to do that. It was a blatant violation, an outrage of modesty. Draco silenced the voice that reminded him waspishly that he had invited Potter to look. He clenched his fists, furious. Potter could  _ not _ look at him like that.

Weasley coughed discreetly and Potter looked up, slightly flushed.

“That doesn’t usually happen, does it?” he blurted. “The stairs moving, I mean. They only change just before you step on or when nobody is there to see it.”

“No, it doesn’t usually happen,” Draco echoed with a sneer. “I wanted to drop off the edge and smash my brains against the stairs. Do you even think before opening your mouth, Potter?”

Potter was like that atrocious textbook Hagrid had set them in third year, the  _ Monster Book of Monsters _ . Draco had always known precisely how to bait him into a frothy frenzy and how to stroke the right places and have him fall apart.

Turning brick red with fury, Potter dropped Weasley’s hand. Somewhere at the back of Draco’s mind, an indignant voice demanded to know if he had finally lost his wits in his latest near-death experience. He didn’t know if he truly meant to be such a prick towards Potter. It felt more like habit than anything. He hadn’t tried being anything else to Potter before.

“What are you being an arse for?” Weasley asked Draco huffily.

She deserved Draco’s best efforts at being a decent human being, even if he didn’t feel like being one at the present moment. To be fair to Potter, he had only been expressing concern for Draco. No doubt he felt some ownership over Draco’s life, having saved it so many damn times. But why the  _ hell _ did he have to look at Draco like that?

“Sorry,” Draco muttered, looking at Weasley. “I’m just – really tired.”

“You do look like a Crup’s arsehole,” she acknowledged charitably. “Doesn’t excuse you being such a prick to Harry, when he was only trying to be polite.”

She raised her eyebrows meaningfully in the way mothers did when they wanted you to do the  _ right _ thing. Being a decent person was exhausting. Draco raised his eyes to Potter, who was watching with a frown.

“Sorry,” Draco said through clenched teeth.

Potter studied him, green eyes intent behind those silly round glasses. After all these years, Draco had concluded he had been the only one who was offended by the hideousness of those glasses. Either that, or Potter’s friends enjoyed snickering behind his back about his inferior fashion sense.

“Save your apology,” Potter said curtly. “Forcing it makes it meaningless.”

A fission of sudden understanding bolted through the two of them. It was the same star-bright, ice-cold knowing that they had shared after escaping from the Fiendfyre: Draco could never repay what Potter had done for him and Draco hated him for it.

Now Draco saw how Potter sought an apology from him for all his wrongs and Potter saw how Draco was inherently incapable of a genuine one. Draco smiled, his chest cold and hollow. Potter stared and twisted away, face pale.

“I should go – let you rest,” he mumbled to Weasley.

Weasley blinked, confused by Draco’s smile and Potter’s ashen look. “Oh, er – alright. Good night, Harry.”

“Night, Gin,” he touched her hand and hurried away, shoulders hunched.

They watched him leave in silence. When the door closed, Weasley turned to Draco, a truculent set to her face. He suppressed a groan and glanced longingly at the bottle of sleeping potion.

“You’re being a prat to Harry on purpose. Oh, don’t even try to deny it. Luna talks about you like you’re her new best friend all the time and as her  _ actual  _ best friend, I’m a little jealous. You mostly keep to yourself and you don’t seem interested in anything but studying these days. And we know you’re tutoring those first years every week,” she took a deep breath, and finished off with: “The only thing that’s the same about you is that you’re still being nasty to Harry. Why?”

Salazar’s jewels, the girl was determined to cast Draco as the reformed villain. He smiled bitterly. If he didn’t dash her hopes now, Potter would certainly disillusion her later. Potter had always seen Draco so clearly, no matter how hard Draco had worked at basking under the shine of his father’s wealth and influence.

“I’m not being nice, Weasley – ”

“My name’s Ginny,” she interrupted, daring him to refuse to use her name.

He gave a small sigh. “Fine. Ginny. I’m not being nice. Of course I’m keeping to myself these days – who’s interested in hearing a Malfoy speak? Of course I’m currying favour with the younger years – they don’t know it’s better not to be seen talking to me - it’s a little something I call  _ Free Tutoring Diplomacy _ . You are under the delusion that I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’m a Slytherin – and a Malfoy – and everything I do is calculated, even telling you this. We do what we can to survive, no matter what.”

Draco kept the Malfoy sneer firmly in place, but apparently it was not enough to drive Weasley away. Her eyes had not wavered from his face when he was speaking, her expressive mouth curving in a grin of amusement.

“You forgot Luna,” she pointed out. “There’s no reason to be so nice to her. People have always treated her nastily.”

“Lovegood reached out to me,” Draco snapped.

Lie. Draco had used an abandoned cardigan as a reason to approach her during the first week of school. He had found it in the dungeons after she had escaped with Potter and kept it , and when her screams had been particularly loud in his dreams , he would stare at it and remember she was safe with Potter.

He had cleaned it the best he could before returning it, but the moment he held it out to her, he regretted it. No amount of cleaning could have erased the stain of prolonged torture. Luna thanked him for taking care of it for her and told him to keep it. Somehow, at the end of that conversation, he found himself promising to spend the next weekend with her, warning the merpeople to watch out for Dapperblimps.

It was clear from Weasley’s smirk that she knew how he had approached Luna first. He flushed, furious.

Weekends with Luna were sacred; they were supposed to be impervious to the shit that went on elsewhere in his life. Weasley was a bitch for trying to taint them with the sordid idea that Draco was using Luna somehow to convince the world he had joined their side. Fuck him if he allowed that to happen.

“I am not nice! It’s not like that with Luna,” he snapped at Weasley. “Believe me when I say I am very much the same Draco Malfoy as before. Stop trying to see things in me that aren’t there.”

“You’re trying a little too hard to convince me,” she said with a laugh.

“Stop that!” he shouted, his body shaking with suppressed emotion. “I’m not fucking nice, Weasley! I’m a fucking Death Eater, remember? I helped all those Death Eaters into Hogwarts and they attacked people and a fucking werewolf nearly killed your fucking brother, remember? Oh, and not to mention the fact that I tried to bloody kill bloody Dumbledore. I’m fucking filth!”

“Mr Malfoy!” Pomfrey came hurrying over, worry etched onto her face.

Over her shoulder, Draco caught a glimpse of the second-year, who stared with fascination. He flushed and returned his glare to Weasley. She looked like he had hit her in the face with a Stunner.

“Mr Malfoy, what’s the matter?” Pomfrey glanced between the two of them. “Do I need to separate the two of you?”

“No,” Weasley said quickly. “Sorry, Madam Pomfrey. Just a misunderstanding.”

Madam Pomfrey glanced at Draco and when he looked away sullenly, she sighed. She reached out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“The war is over, young man. If you don’t learn to let go of it, you will be left behind,” she said quietly and returned to her work.

He stared after her incredulously. Let go of it? How could he?

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Weasley said, the use of his name shocking him enough to look at her.

She looked at him with earnest, brown eyes. “I didn’t mean to belittle your friendship with Luna. I think it’s sweet, really. She likes you a lot. You’re the only one who would go on hunts with her. I was trying to understand why you’re still so nasty to Harry of all people.”

Draco sighed tiredly. His outburst had left him feeling deflated. How weak of him to snap in front of Potter’s girlfriend. Potter would surely hear of it.

“What does it matter?” Draco muttered. “It’ll be too strange if I’m suddenly nice to him, won’t it? As if Potter would want anything to do with me anyway.”

She was quiet for a while. He shot her a look of triumph, knowing that she couldn’t deny his words. But her next words froze the blood in his veins.

“He knows you watch him, you know.”

“I do not,” he said weakly.

She shot him a derisive look that reminded him of Daphne.

“Harry isn’t that hard to appease, really. He’s quick to forgive.”

Draco wanted to protest that Potter was one of the most stubborn bastards he knew. He was like a Niffler after buried gold; there was no dissuading him from a path he had decided on. But it was pointless arguing. He made a noncommittal sound and shrugged.

“I’m going to turn in,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but you can’t avoid me in the morning. Good night then, Draco. But before you sleep, think about this: the only way Harry would know you are watching him is if he is watching you in return.”

With that parting shot, she flicked her wand and drew the privacy screen. Draco was left gaping at her silhouette. What was she suggesting? Potter wasn’t watching him, he couldn’t be. Then he thought of the times he was looking over at Potter only for their eyes to meet and he would look away, appalled at being caught. Potter caught him staring because he had  _ already _ been looking at Draco.  _ No. No, impossible. Don’t be stupid. _

He shook his head, troubled by the thought. It was too weird. He had had a long day. He deserved this one night of sleep without nightmares the potion would give him. He downed the sleeping potion in a single gulp, pulled his clean-smelling sheets over him and waited for oblivion to take him.

\---

_ Here’s to never ending circles and building them on top of me _

\- Chvrches, “Never Ending Circles”

\---

Draco woke up with the warmth and ease of a solid night’s sleep. Pale, early morning sunlight spilled in from the vast windows behind him. He felt better than he had in weeks. For the first time in a long while, his sleep had been devoid of the usual wraiths and spectres.

Then the sharp, herbal stink of the bruise removal paste reminded him where he was and panic swallowed him when he realised he had completely forgotten about his notes in the confusion of last night.

He sat up, looking over to see no movement on the other side of the privacy screen. Better to escape before Weasley woke up anyway. He was in the midst of dressing when Pomfrey came over with a tray.

“Had a good night’s sleep? You look much better,” she said softly. “All bruises gone, I see. There were a lot of bruises … some older than I expected …” she paused, but he said nothing. “And those nasty scratches on your Dark – on your left arm – how did you get them?”

Draco shrugged, absorbed in the task of buttoning up.

Pomfrey sighed. “Here, take these nourishment potions. Students taking their NEWTs so often neglect their health and you in particular, Mr Malfoy, look peaky.”

Pinned by her sharp eyes, Draco swallowed the bitter potions, grimacing.

“You are good to go. But before you do, if you have anything you want to tell me –  _ anything  _ at all …” she trailed off, looking at him hopefully.

“No, I feel fine. Thank you for your concern, Madam Pomfrey,” he said politely.

She looked at him for a while for a troubled expression and then shook her head, muttering something about talking to the Headmistress about stubborn children. She rummaged in the roomy pockets of her robes and retrieved a handful of sweets.

“Thank you,” he said, half-smiling, taking an acid-green boiled sweet.

“Well, you know you can come to me for anything, Mr Malfoy. I hope you will heed my advice,” she said sternly before heading away to attend to the other patients.

Draco finished dressing, sucking on the sweet. The caramel was melting deliciously into malty chocolate. He could hear sounds of Weasley stirring, so he hurried towards the doors before she could realise he was gone.

Out in the corridors, Draco could hear the castle awakening for the day. House elves were carrying out morning chores, early-risers were on their way down and portraits were yawning and stretching.

He hurried towards the spot where he thought his bag should have landed. When he found the spot empty and clean of scattered paper and shattered ink bottles, the fear that he had been keeping at bay reared up and engulfed him. He stood there staring blankly, fists clenched at his sides.

Weeks of work, gone. His notes had been a work of beauty, chock-full of intricate mind-maps and brilliant mnemonics. All gone. He grieved until he knew he was wasting time standing there when he should be replacing the notes he had lost.

Gritting his teeth, he began to make his way up to the dorms, taking care to hold onto the banisters. He would  _ not _ cry. This was just another Dungbomb in the shitstorm that was his life. He hadn’t lost his life in a freak accident, but of course, he had to lose something else almost as important as his life – his schoolwork. He thought mournfully of his completed essays and worksheets.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps and balked. Potter stood at the top of the stairs, looking surprised. Draco’s eyes immediately went to the bag in Potter’s hands – it was his bag.

“Morning,” Potter said awkwardly. “I was on my way down to the hospital wing. I was going to return this,” he held up the bag, “but you’re here now. Looks like Madam Pomfrey managed to put you back together. Here you go then.”

Draco climbed up the last few steps and took the bag. Rifling through his things, he saw that all of his notes were intact. There weren’t even ink stains on them. His bag wasn’t torn either. He looked up at Potter, frowning.

“Thank you,” he said, the words bitter despite the lingering taste of the caramel sweet in his mouth.

Potter responded instinctively to the acrimony he sensed in Draco. His fists clenched, his jaw muscles convulsing. And Merlin, did Draco find him attractive.

“I mended your bag. Cleaned up your notes. There was a lot of ink on them. It took me quite a while,” he said coldly.

It took a few moments for Draco to swallow the words he really wanted to say and to spit out the more socially acceptable ones. “Yes, I can see that. Once again, thank you, Potter.”

The dark-haired boy cocked his head, a mockingly considering look on his face. “Much politer than you were last night, aren’t you? Did Ginny scold some decency into you? Merlin knows you are incapable of being a good person.”

Draco smiled coldly. “Well, I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Not everybody can be a saint like you, Potter. Not everybody grows up to the hero of the wizarding world, marries his childhood sweetheart and goes onto the best Auror Britain has ever seen.”

Potter’s eyes widened. Damn those glasses. Draco could imagine how much lovelier those green eyes would be without those ugly things to distract him. Or perhaps it was a  _ good _ thing Potter had those glasses after all.

“That’s so nice of you,” Potter said sarcastically. “That you’ve planned my whole life out for me like that. Save the effort for yourself. Not looking very good for you, is it? What’s there on your resume? Rode on my daddy’s bloody coat-tails until it turned out the Malfoy name is shit? Former mini Death Eater?”

Rage burst through Draco and he lunged forwards, seizing the front of Potter’s robes. He shoved him backwards against the wall. “You shut up about my father!”

Merlin’s balls, Potter had become  _ nasty.  _ What had that year on the run done to him? And yet … And yet, pressed up against Potter like this, his heart racing in his chest, Draco was inexplicably turned on. There was just something so fucking attractive about a mean Potter. Most of the time, when they were fighting in sixth year, Draco had no idea what it was he wanted to do more: snog or curse Potter.

Potter’s eyes were wide and staring, that ruthless mouth millimetres away, his chest rising and falling beneath Draco’s fists. Draco could easily lean in and – Potter’s eyes dropped to his lips and flicked back up, those green eyes now filled with trepidation. It struck Draco like a lightning bolt.

He dropped Potter’s robes and stepped back, looking away.

“Well, thank you for my bag,” he muttered. “I won’t keep you then.”

“What?” Potter sounded confused.

Draco hefted his bag onto his shoulder and started down the stairs, his fists clenched by his sides. That was too bloody close. Where the fuck was his bloody self-control? It would have been beyond disastrous if he had kissed Potter. Potter hated him already, and he would completely and utterly  _ loathe  _ Draco if Draco had kissed him.

Circe’s pigs, why was he even thinking about kissing Potter?

Then absurdly, Potter fell into step next to him. “Are you heading for breakfast?”

Stunned, Draco couldn’t look at him. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched. He felt Potter’s eyes on him.

Potter exhaled. “Listen, I’m sorry for saying those things, Malfoy. I didn’t mean them. You’re not taking them to heart, are you?”

Draco snorted. “No need to apologise, Potter. There’s no need to maintain your pristine, saintly façade before me.  _ My _ opinion of you wouldn’t mean a thing, would it? Besides, I’ve said far more creatively worded insults. What you said could hardly be considered insults because they’re true after all.”

“They’re true … but not like that,” Potter insisted. “What, you think you can come up with better insults than I can?”

“Obviously,” Draco muttered.

“What about a challenge then? From now until the end of term, we can’t insult each other using the common curse words.”

Draco stopped and wheeled around to face him, intrigued. Potter’s eyes were gleaming, the beginnings of a smile curving on his lips.

“What do we win?” Draco asked cautiously.

“A task. The winner can ask the loser to do anything he wants.” Potter licked his lips.

“Anything he wants?” Draco echoed, eyes fixed on those wet lips. He realised he was staring and looked up sharply, but to his relief, it didn’t seem like Potter noticed. “Alright then. We can’t insult each other to the face using common curse words. We should make a list of those words before we shake on it.”

He dug into his book bag and pulled out a piece of spare parchment and a Quick-Refill Quill. Right there in the corridor, Draco and Potter created their list of curse words they couldn’t use on each other for the next three months. When they were done, Draco waved his wand and handed Potter a duplicate.

Potter folded up the parchment and stuffed it into his pocket. There was a spark of excitement visible in his eyes and Draco felt a similar frisson stir in his chest.

“Shake on it?” Potter grinned, holding out his hand.

Draco hesitated and then took it. Potter’s hand was slightly larger and his palm damp, as if he was nervous. His forefinger brushed against the inside of Draco’s wrist, sending a spark of heat spiralling up Draco’s arm. Draco dropped his hand hastily.

“Well then, I hope you know what you’re doing, Potter,” he said, ignoring the hammering of his heart. “I was the one who compared your eyes to  _ speckled toad _ , remember?”

“Yeah, Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret?” Potter raised his eyebrows.

Draco scowled, his pride still aching at the memory of the fake Moody bouncing him up and down across the courtyard. He turned away to continue down towards the Great Hall. Now that there was a light, soaring feeling in his chest, he realised he was  _ starving _ . He had only had pumpkin juice last night after all.

For some reason, Potter continued walking with him. When they came to the branch in the corridors and Potter was still beside him, Draco huffed and pointed down the other corridor. “Hospital wing is that way, Potter. Seven years here and you still lose your way.”

“I know,” Potter shrugged. “I think I’d have a spot of breakfast first. You seem fine and Ginny should be the same, right?”

Draco stared at him, perplexed. Potter jutted out his chin. There was the distinct taste of a challenge in the air. Potter was daring Draco to – what? Draco couldn’t figure it out. The only thing apparent at the moment was that Potter knew he annoyed Draco and he seemed determined to continue being a pest.

Draco hadn’t thought Potter was such a masochist. It made sense in a way. He was a hero, born and bred, and heroes were champions for taking on impossible tasks and torturing themselves in the process. Draco shook his head in disgust. Well, let him.

“Well?” Potter gestured down the corridor to the Great Hall in a taunting manner. “You haven’t forgotten where the Great Hall is, right?”

Draco sneered and strode away. Perhaps it was a trap? Revenge for the humiliation Potter had felt last night from Peeves’ allegations? As they walked in silence, Draco kept a sharp eye out for Granger and Weasley, unease creeping up his back.

“So … you’re dating Astoria Greengrass?” Potter asked.

Draco was startled enough to blurt the truth. “Merlin, no!”

“Last night … you were kissing her and – ” Potter was looking straight ahead, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Well, it makes people doubt the whole  _ Draco Malfoy is gay _ thing, don’t you think?” Draco couldn’t think why he was being so truthful; maybe it was sheer astonishment that Potter had chosen to talk to him about such a trivial thing, as if … as if they were  _ friends. _

He immediately regretted telling the truth because now he had had no leverage to ask Potter why he asked. He glared at the other boy and frowned in confusion because Potter was looking particularly pleased.

“Why do you care?” he sneered. “Shouldn’t it be below you to rub your happy little relationship in people’s faces?”

“What?” Potter looked at him, puzzled now. “ _ My _ happy little relationship?”

Draco rolled his eyes, no longer interested in continuing the conversation. He walked faster. It was early enough that they encountered nobody else until they reached the Great Hall. When they entered together, the few people there took exaggerated double takes with wide-eyed astonishment. Draco scowled at all of them.

Draco stormed towards Slytherin table, seething. At least not too many people had seen them. He could only imagine the new rumours that would spread, especially after what Peeves had said last night.

To his horror, Potter sat down across from him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Draco hissed.

His distress must have been obvious, because Potter smiled broadly and pulled an empty plate towards him.

“Having breakfast,” he said placidly.

“You’re Gryffindor! You’re not supposed to be here,” Draco snarled, glancing over his shoulder.

A few students had noticed and appeared confused. Up at the head table, McGonagall’s sharp eyes were trained on them. When Draco met her eyes, she inclined her head slightly. He nodded back nervously. McGonagall had always scared the piss out of him.

“You know, it’s strange. There are no rules to prevent people from eating with friends from other Houses and look, there’s no magic to stop me from doing it, but people just don’t do it,” Potter said musingly.

As he spoke, he loaded his plate with four rashers of bacon, a grilled tomato, two fried eggs, two English muffins, two slices of toast, and three sausages. His plate was disappearing under the pile of food. Draco watched, enthralled. For years, he had watched Potter consume veritable mountains of food, but not up close before.

“Have you been starved?” he asked sarcastically.

Potter paused in the midst of slathering jam onto his toast. His face twisted in a look that was both chagrin and defensiveness. It was unnerving. There was no intelligent response for that but to wait.

“Yes,” Potter exhaled, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ve been starved,” he said testily, putting down his toast.

Draco’s mouth was too dry. He poured a cup of tea and scalded himself taking a gulp. As he coughed, Potter watched him with grim amusement.

“You mean, during the war?” Draco was floundering; this conversation was not going the way he had expected and he did not know if he was sinking or swimming.

“No, before that, during my childhood, before I came to Hogwarts,” Potter looked down at his plate, nervously toying with his butter knife. “So yes, I’ve been starved.”

Potter was raised by Muggles, Draco knew that much. It had something to do with Dumbledore’s grand plan on protecting Potter and defeating Voldemort, if the post-war reports could be believed. In light of the knowledge that those Muggles had starved Potter in his childhood, Draco doubted the veracity of those reports. Not even Dumbledore was daft enough to allow such travesties to happen under his nose … right?

Potter glanced at Draco. Whatever he saw gave rise to a small, acerbic smile.

“Not everybody was raised in a manor,” he said. “I’ve ruined all your illusions of me, haven’t I? What, did you think I was raised a Muggle prince, prancing about being the Chosen One, lording it over the stupid worshipping Muggles?”

Draco blushed, because that was how he had seen Potter in his younger years. It was only when he was older, that the shabby, underfed look of Potter’s – and Snape’s remarks about Potter’s mother’s Muggle relations – had caused him to wonder.

Potter’s eyes widened and he guffawed.

“No! You really thought so?” he shook his head in disbelief, picking up his toast again.

Draco scowled and began to fix himself a bacon sandwich. “It isn’t as if details of your childhood are public knowledge.”

Potter grunted. “Yeah, well …”

He was clearly uncomfortable. Draco could not understand it, but he wanted to set Potter at ease again. He caught sight of his bag stuffed with notes and began to talk inanely about the double Herbology they both had later. Potter’s relief was obvious and the iron band that had settled around Draco’s chest when Potter started talking about being starved by the Muggles loosened a little.

Perhaps because Potter was aware of Draco watching him, he took care to eat slower. As he worked his way through the mountain of food, they discussed the Brown Walkers they would be re-potting later.

Draco was painfully aware of the rest of the school streaming in for breakfast. He did his best to ignore the swirl of talk. Their having breakfast together would only fuel the worst of the rumours. Clearly, he had been wrong to think Potter was appalled at the thought of Draco lusting after him. Honestly, how could anyone think Potter was anything but straight? He had a girlfriend, for Merlin’s sake. People had such nasty, avid imaginations.

Potter wasn’t handsome, but there was something in his face that drew people in. It was the hunger that coiled in his leaf-green eyes, dark and glittering. Together with his lean, thin-cheeked look and broad, smiling mouth, Potter gave the illusion of being capable of powerful emotion. That was probably why people had such romantic visions of Potter. Merlin knows that mouth was enough to do Draco in.

“What?” Potter was slightly flushed. “You’re staring too much.”

Draco started, heat rising in his face. “You have something in your teeth,” he lied.

Potter flushed harder, his hands flying up to cover his mouth. “Where?” His voice came out muffled.

Draco wanted to laugh. Potter was a little too embarrassed. He was about to make a teasing comment when Daphne glided up the aisle to them, looking cold and forbidding as a venerable duchess.

“Morning, Daph,” Draco said uneasily.

“I came from the hospital wing,” she said. “Pomfrey told me you left an hour ago.”

“Ah … yes,” Draco’s tone lilted at the end uncertainly.

“She told me about how you had a nasty fall last night,” she continued. “Something about how you almost died? And Ginny Weasley saved you. You were covered in bruises and apparently, you had a few bruised bones as well. You had to stay the night in the hospital wing.”

She paused, giving him a chance to respond. He didn’t take it, knowing it was best to keep his mouth shut.

“I thought you were in bed all along. I woke up in the morning and Nott told me you didn’t come back last night. I ran down to the hospital wing, only you were already gone. I come here, and I find you having breakfast,” she tossed Potter a disdainful look. “Did you even fucking think of telling me?”

The temperature of the room dropped to sub-zero so quickly Draco could have sworn she had cast an Arctic spell. Merlin’s pants, Daphne was beyond pissed. He understood why; if she had landed herself in the hospital wing, he would have been furious she did not inform him.

He scrambled for words, quailing under her ferocious glare. In the end, Potter saved his arse – again.

“Come off it, Greengrass,” Potter said genially. “He was fine. There was nothing you could have done besides watch him sleep anyway.”

Those were precisely the wrong things to say. Draco breathed a sigh of relief, when Daphne wheeled around to face Potter, the focus of her anger now on him. He watched gleefully as Potter blanched.

“And what are you doing here, Potter?” Daphne asked, making it evident Potter was as welcome as Crup stool at Slytherin table.

“I – I bumped into Malfoy,” Potter glanced at Draco for help, but Draco merely smiled, “I had his bag. We came into breakfast together and none of my friends were down yet, so I thought – “

“Well, it seems they are here now, so perhaps you should join them before you eat my breakfast,” Daphne had phrased it as a suggestion, but there was only a command in her tone.

“Ah – er – right,” Potter stammered, scrambling to his feet. “See you at Herbology then, Malfoy.”

With that, he ran away to Gryffindor table. Draco saw Granger and the two Weasley siblings watching, Granger with a frown, the male Weasley with resignation, and Ginny with … Draco narrowed his eyes. Ginny saw him looking, and waved jauntily. Why was she so cheerful?

“What,” Daphne sat down heavily next to him, “was that about, Malfoy?”

“I don’t know,” he turned back to her.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Don’t you dare play at being innocent,” she snapped. “I’m still furious you didn’t think of telling me about your accident, but I’m much more interested at the moment about you and Potter having breakfast together.”

“Like I had a choice,” he retorted. “He followed me.”

“And?”

“And he sat there and he began eating. What else? We’re at breakfast.”

Draco couldn’t tell her what Potter had shared with him. He couldn’t think why Potter had in the first place, and the way he had been  _ looking  _ at Draco … What was Potter playing at? Why was he talking to Draco as if they had not been bitter rivals for the best part of seven years? Perhaps it was only Draco who saw their enmity with any importance. It made sense. The Dark Lord – and not Draco – had always been Potter’s ultimate enemy.

“Well done then,” Daphne said sourly, pouring out coffee. “Are you still going to deny the fact that you’re in love with him?”

“I am not in love with him,” he replied automatically.

He wasn’t. He never was, not even during that horrible year when he was sixteen. He couldn’t be. Daphne’s look was disparaging.

“Well, not that it matters, right? He’s still together with Ginny Weasley,” Daphne pointed out.

“Right,” Draco echoed, looking up at the Gryffindor table; he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Ginny was leaning against Potter, peering over his shoulder at the newspaper spread out before them, her vivid hair hanging in his face. He laughed and pushed her away gently. She retaliated by pinching a sausage from his plate. He scowled at her with mock anger. It was too adorable of a scene.

Draco looked down and took another sip of tea. It was now cold and tasteless.

\---

_ In the darkness I can see it all _

\- Janet Devlin, “Creatures Of The Night”

\---

Draco limped up the corridor to the common room. He paused, leaning against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. Curse them to Tartarus, they hadn’t even waited two weeks from the last attack to attempt beating him up again. He managed to escape, but had spent a good part of the past hour hiding in a broom closet. He was bleeding where they had cast  _ Diffindo _ on him. Gritting his teeth, he moved on.

The common room was fairly empty, most of the people in the Pit. To avoid questions about his torn robes and the blood, he crept along the sides of the room to the armchairs that faced out, overlooking the courtyard. He collapsed into one of them, closing his eyes. Combined with his injuries from the fall three days ago, Draco’s body was feeling the abuse very thoroughly.

This couldn’t go on, he knew. Daphne, whom he had forbade to say anything, could not be with him every moment of the day. She understood his reluctance to tell the Headmistress at least. As a Slytherin, she had received her own fair share of bullying, though not to the extent Draco was receiving.

But he could deal with them on his own. He just … he just had to think of something. He felt himself drift to the edge of unconsciousness and forced himself awake. He had to stop the bleeding first. The simple act of casting  _ Vulnera Sanentur _ made his head swim. He was nauseous and shivery and could not think of moving.

He lay back in the armchair, closing his eyes again. He only needed a few minutes’ rest and then he would go to bed. Yes, just a few minutes …

When he opened his eyes again, the common room was dark and someone was crying.

Draco blinked. The glow of the fireplace danced over the walls, reflecting off the window in front of him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, Harry, it’s alright,” a male voice said quietly. “It’s alright.”

The only response was soft, gasping sobs that ripped a hole in Draco’s chest. Not daring to breathe, he moved slowly, twisting around to look behind his chair, towards the fireplace. He saw it clearly: Potter crouched in that armchair Draco had seen him in before, his arms wrapped around his knees, and Weasley standing over him in his dressing gown, rubbing Potter’s back slowly.

A door opened and Weasley looked up. Draco saw the relief spread over his face. The door closed and Granger came padding over.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered and knelt down, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

Weasley pulled both of them into his arms.

All this while, Potter continued to weep in that quiet, gulping way. Draco recognised it. It was the sound of a broken bird wing flapping wetly, slick with blood and shiny with bone. It was the sound of a boy trying to pretend he was alright.

He withdrew back into his cocoon of darkness. Ensconced in his armchair, he stared unseeingly out into the night sky, listening to the sound of the Saviour of the Wizarding World breaking down.

\---

_ I feel like I'm a galaxy away from you _

\- Sky Ferreira, “Heavy Metal Heart

\---

The second time Draco almost died, it was Potter’s fault.

He had been avoiding Potter all week. That was difficult. After they had their bet, Potter had taken it into his head that they were acquaintances and began greeting Draco whenever he saw him. Twice, he had even chosen to sit next to Draco during class and proceeded to pass him notes scribbled with the most pathetic insults like  _ troll snot _ and  _ Bowtruckle dung. _

But Draco was careful. He was frigidly polite – masterfully so, if he could say so himself – which confused Potter to no end. He would have been amused if it didn’t only make Potter all the more determined to hurl the most ridiculous insults at Draco. In the end, Draco watched carefully for Potter wherever he went, making sure to turn the other way or duck out the moment he caught a glimpse of that mop of dark hair.

Daphne was extremely amused. “You are taking playing hard to get to the extreme, Malfoy,” she said.

“I’m not. I can only play hard to get if the other party is even interested in  _ getting _ me and Potter is not,” he replied tersely, trying to focus on the Potions essay he was writing.

It was on a particularly tricky aspect of Potions too – the effect of wand wood on the brewing of a potion. Slughorn had hinted that it would be advantageous to have a full grasp on the topic before next week’s lesson. Daphne’s babbling was not helping his concentration.

“Why are you avoiding Potter then?” she asked. “Did he scare you off with his silly nicknames?” She snickered. “Baby bottom butt.”

Draco thought he had been embarrassed more than he ever could again in his life when Potter had blurted that one out during double Charms two days ago. The entire classroom – including a puzzled but very amused Flitwick – had laughed uproariously. All Potter did was to stand next to him, red-faced and blinking furiously.

Even now, he felt the residual embarrassment heat his cheeks. He kicked Daphne under the table. She yelped in pain and looked around anxiously for Madam Pince. There was no one near them but a lower year Ravenclaw girl in the corner.

“Shut up,” he hissed viciously. “We’re in the library.”

“Don’t be a twat. If it embarrasses you so much, tell him to stop,” she snapped. “I never would have figured Potter for the nickname-giving type.”

“It’s not a nickname,” Draco said coolly. “I told you, Potter and I are having a challenge going on to see who can come up with the most creative insults.”

Daphne shrugged. “Baby bottom butt is a term of endearment, I’m sorry.”

“Then Potter is losing,” he snarled. “Shut  _ up _ about Potter. I want to study.”

“All you  _ do _ is study and you look like shit, Draco. Is it – ” she made a vague gesture.

He shook his head sharply. The bullies had left him alone for the week at least.

“Ah, well, then you’re studying too much. Here,” she shoved a piece of parchment towards him. The words  _ mandrake root _ were scrawled on it.

He frowned at it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“The password to the Prefects’ bathroom. Got it off Alicia.” Alicia was her current girlfriend, a fifth-year Ravenclaw Prefect. “You need a good and proper bubble bath, Malfoy.”

He looked at it reluctantly. “I don’t have time for a bubble bath.”

“You’re taking one,” Daphne said firmly. “Tonight.”

He thought longingly of the enormous bathtub and the torrents of nice-smelling bubbles and foam and took the scrap. “Alright.”

Draco finished up his homework rather cheerily, thinking of the beautiful, long bath he was about to have. Potter, of course, had to ruin all that.

As he and Daphne made their way back to the dorms, he spied Potter waiting at the end of the corridor and immediately ducked into the next corridor, pulling Daphne with him.

“What the fuck, Malfoy?” she exclaimed.

“Shh! It’s Potter, he’s right there. Keep your voice down,” he hissed, scanning the empty corridor for a hiding place. There was nothing, not even a suit of armour to duck behind, just tapestries hanging on the walls.

“Potter?” Daphne’s brows creased. “Well, go talk to him then. You can’t avoid him for the rest of the year, you know.”

“I don’t need to talk to him,” he looked at her, appalled. “We haven’t been talking for the past month and it suits me fine. I have no idea why he has gotten it in his head that we’re – that we’re casual acquaintances or something.”

She rolled her eyes expressively and yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Whatever. You continue being this weird, Malfoy, and you’d chase Potter away. I’m heading back first. You have fun playing hide and seek with Potter.”

Draco stared after her, feeling betrayed. “You are leaving your friend in the lurch just like that?”

She waved to him over her shoulder. Suppressing a growl, he spun around and eyed the corridor again. Wait, wasn’t there a hidden entrance behind one of these tapestries? He pelted down the corridor, ripping aside tapestries. He had to hurry before Daphne snitched on him to Potter; Draco wouldn’t put it beyond her.

A narrow black entrance loomed behind a tapestry.  _ Yes! _ Swallowing his yell of victory, he ducked into the space, pulling the heavy tapestry back in place. Then he stood there, waiting and listening. Blocked from the light of the corridor, Draco was in utter darkness. It was so dark, it didn’t make a difference whether his eyes were open or closed.

Sure enough, he heard footsteps. “Malfoy? Malfoy, I know you’re here,” Potter sounded frustrated. “Come on, what the hell are you doing?” He was right outside the tapestry. “I just want to talk to you, alright? Is it the insults? Malfoy!” Potter’s voice was fading into the distance; he was walking away.

Draco exhaled in relief, sagging against the wall behind him. He had evaded Potter for the moment. Potter was such a stubborn tosser. Draco waited a few more seconds and decided it was safe enough. He made to push the tapestry aside. It was hard and unyielding as wood. He frowned and pushed aside. The tapestry did not move.

_ What the hell? _ Quashing the bubble of panic, he set his entire weight against the tapestry, pushing with all his might. It wouldn’t move. He took a deep breath and choked on the dust.  _ Don’t panic. You have your wand. _ Draco slipped it out of his sleeve and whispered, “ _ Lumos. _ ”

The glow of his wand tip was a tiny firefly in the thick soupy darkness. He held it up to the tapestry. It still appeared to be woven cloth, but when he pushed, it was as solid as the stone surrounding him. He knelt in the dust, feeling for the edges of the entrance.

With a loud, grinding sound, the walls on either side of him began to move. He jumped to his feet, holding his wand up. The walls were closing in.

“Fuck!” he shouted. “ _ Arresto momentum _ !  _ Arresto momentum _ !  _ Spongify _ ! Oh, for fuck –  _ Reducto _ !”

There was no use. None of the spells he was firing at the walls were stopping them. The grinding sound was now all around him, filling his ears, vibrating through his teeth. The walls were brushing his shoulders now. He fired all the destruction spells he knew at the tapestry, panic washing over him. It was no use. It would not budge.

Then: “Malfoy?” It was Potter and he was somewhere outside.

“POTTER!” he shouted. “POTTER! HERE!”

“Malfoy!” Potter was just on the other side of the tapestry. “Malfoy, what’s happening? What’s that sound?”

Draco swallowed past his dry, dust-coated throat. “Potter, the tapestry is – stuck. I can’t get out and the walls are closing in, Potter, get me out – quick!”

The walls were so close now Draco was forced to turn sideways. “POTTER!”

“Okay, okay! Stand back!”

Draco shuffled back as much as he could. The wall was pressing against his chest now, the other one against his shoulder blades. He could only take shallow breaths. He turned his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the tapestry entrance, his wand clutched in his hand. His heart was thundering in his ears and all he could think of was that Potter was on the other side and Potter would get him out of here.

A blast shook the walls squeezing the breath out of his lungs and a slice of light appeared before him. Potter’s face appeared in the gap. His hands shot in, grabbed hold of Draco’s robes and he  _ yanked. _ Draco slid out and fell onto Potter in a mess of limbs. In a panic, he remembered his bag and he twisted around. Before the sliver of darkness completely disappeared, Draco snagged the strap of his bag and pulled it out just as the walls slammed into each other, the floor shuddering beneath them.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their rasping breaths. Then Potter asked shakily, “What the fuck was that?”, and Draco realised he was sprawled on top of Potter, his back flush with Potter’s chest, his legs tangled with his, and he quickly rolled off.

Potter sat up, his eyes wide and bewildered behind his crooked glasses. Draco resisted the urge to straighten his glasses for him.

“Are you okay?” Potter asked.

Draco gave himself a quick survey. His robes were dusty and he could still taste the dankness in his mouth, but he was otherwise fine. His wand had also escaped intact.

“I’m fine,” he tried to hold his voice steady. “You?”

“I’m okay,” Potter said. “Merlin, Malfoy, I know you’re avoiding me, but you don’t have to go that extent, do you?” His face was taut with anger, green eyes blazing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t know that was going to happen,” Draco retorted defensively. “The walls weren’t supposed to move.”

“How the hell did you manage to get the wall to open up?” Potter was frowning. “You disappeared off the Map, even though I knew you were somewhere along this corridor.”

“What Map?  _ I _ didn’t get the wall to open up. That’s the hidden entrance that leads to a corridor in the South Tower, isn’t it?”

“No,  _ that’s _ the hidden entrance,” Potter pointed to a tapestry two spaces down. “The tapestry of a wizard battling a red stallion.”

“Oh.” Draco was dumbfounded. “Then why was there an entrance there?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Really, Malfoy, I thought you might know better than go diving into any hole that opens up in this castle.”

Draco’s temper flared. “No problem there, I usually prefer someone else diving into my hole.” Then he realised what he said and Potter realised what he said and Potter blushed a deep, ruddy red that made Draco feel hot by just looking at him.

“Well – er – I – ” Potter was at a lost for words and he could not meet Draco’s eyes.

Draco burst into laughter. Whether it was nearly being crushed to death or the sight of Potter’s embarrassment at the idea of fucking Draco’s arse, Draco was giddy with hilarity. Potter gaped at him and then the mirth got to him too.

That was how an utterly flabbergasted McGonagall and the other teachers rushing to find out the source of the shaking of the castle found them: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy rolling on the floor, laughing until they cried.

\---

_ If I give more than enough ground, will you claim it? _

\- CHVRCHES, “Playing Dead”

\---

They walked in silence. The castle was hushed around them. It was long after curfew. After McGonagall had talked to them, she had insisted on personally escorting them to Madam Pomfrey, who had Draco strip right in front of Potter, and Draco had seen how Potter’s eyes widened and then narrowed at the sight of the healing cuts and bruises on his body.

Pomfrey once again made her appeal for Draco to tell her who was doing it to him, but he brushed her off rudely. He was furious that Potter had  _ seen _ it, seen the evidence of his weakness, and now Saint Potty was going to try to do something about it.

That was just how Harry Potter worked.

He couldn’t see an injustice he didn’t want to fix, even if it was being done to someone he hated. He had come back for Draco, didn’t he? Saved him from Crabbe’s folly. Draco would rather kiss a Sphinx than be saved by Potter one more fucking time.

There was also the matter of Draco’s two near-deaths.

“I’m afraid it’s Peeves,” McGonagall said grimly. “You jinxed him a few weeks ago, didn’t you? And the incident with the stairs happened right after? Yes, it’s impossible for a student to manipulate the stairs – no one is powerful enough to subvert the castle’s magic – and moving the walls of the castle like that,” she shook her head, “no witch or wizard could have done that. But a poltergeist’s magic is like a house elf’s. They can do certain things in the castle we can’t.”

“Peeves is trying to kill me,” Draco said blankly.

“I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing is life-threatening. Poltergeists have a very different understanding of mortality and we have never seen a poltergeist who has lived quite as long as Peeves.”

“Brilliant,” Draco said, wondering what Luna would think about Hogwarts’ one of a kind, live-in, accidental murderer poltergeist.

“What can we do about it?” Potter spoke up then, leaning forward.

“Well,” McGonagall gave Potter a considering look, “the Bloody Baron has agreed to ask the other ghosts to help search for Peeves. Beyond that … I’ve arranged a schedule with the other teachers. We will be escorting Malfoy between his classes and – ”

“No,” Draco said immediately.

This would solve the problem with the bullies as well, but the thought of a teacher hounding his every foot step was preposterous. McGonagall frowned.

“It’s not ideal,” she acknowledged. “But – ”

“I can protect Malfoy,” Potter blurted.

Both McGonagall and Draco stared at him. He kept his eyes on McGonagall.

“Ron and Hermione too. And I’m sure Ginny, Luna and Neville will want to help. It’ll be easier for us to be around Malfoy all the time than for you,” he pointed out. “Ginny and I have already saved him once each.”

“No,” Draco said again.

“It’s not something we can’t do,” Potter continued. “It’ll be difficult for the teachers to shift their schedule around, won’t it?”

“No.”

McGonagall and Potter were both ignoring him. The Headmistress looked thoughtful.

“No!” Draco thumped his fist on the arm of his chair. “Potter, I don’t need your help.”

Potter swung to face him, his face set in that tight, stubborn look Draco knew well, his eyes hard. “Really? What about half an hour ago, Malfoy?”

Draco had nothing to say to that and in his silence, McGonagall and Potter arranged it between them that Potter and his friends should be responsible for protecting Draco from the murdering menace Peeves.

As they walked through the dark, still corridors, Draco was thinking of nothing but the bubble bath that was nearly his. He was sore (again), covered in grit and the various pastes Pomfrey had slathered on him , and absolutely tired of everything. He wanted to drown in bubbles. Daphne was right; he deserved a bubble bath.

“Where are you going?” Potter demanded when Draco turned down another corridor. “Malfoy!”

He grabbed Draco’s shoulder at precisely the tender spot where he had fallen on the ground. Draco hissed in pain and spun around, pushing Potter hard in the chest.

“I’m going to the Prefects’ bathroom,” he snarled. “I want a fucking bubble bath. Are you coming with me, Potter? You are my bodyguard, aren’t you?”

Potter scowled at him, rubbing his chest where Draco had pushed him. “Can’t you take a bath back at the dorms?”

“No.” Draco spun around and continued striding down the corridor.

For some reason, Potter let him go and followed.

The Prefects’ bathroom was as wonderful as Draco  had remembered – the large sunken tub, the multiple taps of all shapes and sizes, the racks of thick fluffy towels. He activated the “Occupied” warning spell, even though he doubted anyone would interrupt at this time of the night.

Potter stood uncertainly by the towel rack, frowning at Draco. Draco ignored him. He was the one who insisted on following him. Draco set his bag aside and began to undo the buttons of his robes.

“Wait – what – are you taking a  _ bath _ ?” Potter was gawping stupidly again.

Merlin, Draco ached to  _ kiss _ him – or was it punch him? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that he was mad as fuck at Potter for interfering and poking his speccy face into his business, and he want to  _ hurt _ him. He continued undressing, his hands cold.

“This is a  _ bath _ room, Potter,” he said scathingly and pulled his robes over his head.

Potter’s eyes were popping out of his head. It would have been funny had Draco not been so damn angry. Wearing only his briefs, he went over to the taps and turned a few at random. Then turning to face Potter, he pulled off his pants.

Potter was so pale Draco felt a crack of uncertainty for once in the past twenty minutes. Had he interpreted the way Potter looked at him wrongly? Then Potter’s eyes dropped to Draco’s groin and Draco knew he had him.

Draco stepped up to Potter and Potter didn’t move away. He stood there, staring at Draco, his breathing loud and fast in the echoey bathroom. Their eyes were locked on each other’s, Potter’s eyes molten. Draco reached out a hand and sank it into Potter’s hair up to his knuckles. Salazar, was it  _ soft. _ They were so close their breaths ghosted over each other’s lips, cool and light. Draco leaned in, their noses brushing, and Potter shuddered, his lips parting a little in anticipation, his eyelids fluttering shut.

Draco was so close, he could feel his lips tingling. He could just feel the softness of Potter’s lips, the heat and wetness of his mouth. But he couldn’t; not this mistake again. Draco tightened his grip on Potter’s hair, pulling at the roots. It was hard enough for Potter’s eyes to go flying open, consternation now in them.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Potter?” Draco whispered. “Is that why you followed me into the bathroom? Is that why you insist on  _ protecting _ me?”

“What?” Potter looked confused, but he made no move to pull away.

“I didn’t think you were capable of this,” Draco continued, his words wafting across Potter’s lips. “Saint Potter with his lovely girlfriend, wanting to experiment with men. So this is why you have been watching me. Daphne pointed it out to me, but I didn’t believe her – why should the Boy Who Lived want to have anything to do with a former Death Eater? But she’s right and I see the way you’ve been watching me – and following me around.

“Why, it’s like sixth year all over again. Was that why you followed me into the girls’ bathroom too? Hoping to catch me with my pants down? Well, Potter, now that you have me here, what would you have me do in return for your  _ protection _ ?”

Potter, who had been standing frozen, stricken by his words, was pulling away now. He stepped back, frowning and shaking his head. “No, I didn’t mean anything by offering my protection. I only – look, I know you’ve been bullied and I did my best to keep them away since the start of term, warnings and all that, but it doesn’t seem to be working. And you look terrible most of the time. I just – I only wanted to help.”

Draco felt as if Potter had scooped out a dripping, messy chunk of his internal organs and tossed it aside. Since the start of term? Potter  _ knew _ since then? Draco felt light-headed and he must have staggered because Potter grabbed his arms. The touch of his hands on Draco’s bare skin sent shivers of heat through him.

“Malfoy, are you okay?”

Draco clung to his rage and nursed it into a roaring conflagration. How  _ dare _ Potter? He had no right to do this for Draco. Draco wanted none of it. It was like right after the Fiendfyre flight again; Draco  _ hated _ Harry Potter, hated his stupid glasses, his green eyes dimmed in concern, his soft, soft lips. He didn’t fucking care that he would hurt – and terribly – if he gave in to this temptation; Draco hated Potter and he would see Potter burn for this.

“I look terrible?” he said in a soft, silky tone, stepping into Potter’s arms, slipping an arm around Potter’s neck. “Is that something you’d say to a bloke you want to fuck?”

“No, I – ” Potter dropped Draco’s arms.

Draco grabbed Potter by the back of his neck and dragged him in for a kiss. Their lips met clumsily, their teeth knocking together painfully. Potter made a small noise of pain, but he was grabbing at Draco just as desperately, his arms locking around Draco’s body.

Draco kissed Potter hungrily, sucking, his mouth opening, his tongue slipping out, tasting the sweet-saltiness of Potter’s lips. His bare chest rasped against Potter’s robes, his nipples peaking in arousal. Potter opened his mouth and they were both drinking each other in, their tongues sliding against each other, hot and wet and tight. They parted, both gasping for air, eyes opening. Potter’s eyes were dark with desire, his face flushed red.

Draco jerked Potter back in, refusing to give him a reprieve, causing Potter to lose his balance and Draco was falling backwards and they landed with a splash in the filled tub, their mouths already together and Draco was sucking on Potter’s bottom lip. Floating underwater, his eyes closed, Draco didn’t know what was up or down; he only knew kissing Potter and holding Potter and the searing touch of Potter’s hands on his back.

They came up for air, treading water. Potter was gasping, “Wait, wait! Malfoy, wait!”

Draco growled. “Fuck no.”

He made to pull Potter back in again, but Potter released him and slipped away in the water. Draco immediately felt bereft. Potter clambered out of the pool and sat there on the edge, gasping, his robes drenched and sticking to him. Water sluiced off him in waves.

Draco swam over and pulled himself up next to Potter. Potter’s eyes were fixed on Draco’s half-erect cock. He straddled Potter’s lap, hands on his shoulders, and their erections brushed against each other. Potter gasped, his head dropping backwards, exposing his neck.

Draco sucked hungrily on his neck, causing Potter to groan.

“No, Malfoy, wait, wait,  _ please _ .”

Draco ignored him, kissing up Potter’s neck, intent on the mixture of anger and lust coursing through him. He could feel Potter’s hard cock rubbing against his through Potter’s wet robes and  _ fuck _ , Potter wanted him. Harry  _ fucking _ Potter wanted  _ him _ , Draco Malfoy. Not once – never – during those wanking fantasies featuring Potter had he ever imagined he could  _ ever _ have the real Potter writhing under him like this. He experienced momentary wonder and paused, leaning back to check that it really was Harry Potter beneath him.

Potter opened his eyes. He was  _ still _ wearing those ugly glasses, which were covered in water and bubbles and close to useless. Draco caught the glasses and tossed them aside. Potter laughed breathlessly and Draco could see his eyes up close for the first time. They were green and flecked with gold and when Draco looked into his eyes, he couldn’t think anymore.

He leaned in and kissed that broad, laughing mouth like he had always dreamed of doing, softly, gently.

“So I take it you  _ do _ wank to fantasies of me, eh?” Potter asked with an insolent smile.

And Draco remembered he was furious at Potter for wanting to save his life again and that Potter had a girlfriend and he was supposed to be fucking  _ straight _ , he wasn’t supposed to be here with Draco, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to fuck Draco until kingdom come.

And Draco felt something in his chest twist looking at Potter’s bare, laughing face and he wanted Potter to feel that too, to feel some of that pain, to feel all of it.

He leaned back and Potter made a noise of disappointment. Draco shoved Potter’s robes up his legs to his waist and took Potter’s hard cock in his hand and Potter gasped, his hands flying to grab Draco’s shoulders. He began to pull and Potter mewled, his eyes fluttering shut. Potter actually  _ mewled _ in pleasure.

That mixture of rage and ecstasy and  _ something else _ twisted harder in Draco’s chest.

“You should see yourself, Potter. You look positively wanton,” he said in a cold, flat voice.

Potter’s eyes opened and he was looking at Draco in bewilderment.

“What would people say if they knew the great Harry Potter was cheating on his girlfriend?” Draco began to stroke Potter’s cock faster and Potter moaned.

He leaned in, breathing in the smell of soap on Potter’s skin, his lips at Potter’s ears. He whispered, “Moaning like a cheap slut as Draco Malfoy jerks him off … what would people say, Potter? Is this one of your sick fantasies, Potter? Fucking a former Death Eater?”

“What are you … saying …” Potter gasped as Draco stroked him fast and hard and he dug his nails into Draco’s shoulders.

“I’m asking you if this is what you want in return for protecting me,” Draco hissed into his ear. “Is this how you imagined I would repay you for offering your help?”

“I just – Stop – Malfoy – ” Potter was pushing at his shoulders now.

Draco wouldn’t let him go so he bent down and wrapped his lips around the head of Potter’s cock. That was all it took. Potter’s yell bounced off the bathroom walls and Draco felt the upthrust of Potter’s hips driving more of his cock into Draco’s mouth. At first, all he tasted was soap water then he tasted the saltiness of cum.

He straightened up, wiping Potter’s cum from his chin, panting. Potter was frozen under him. He looked humiliated and awkward and confused.

“Draco, what are you talking about? I don’t want this. I never wanted this.”

Something broke in Draco at the sound of his name on Potter’s lips and he couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t know if he was still angry. He just wanted to get out of here, to go somewhere where he couldn’t see the accusation in Potter’s eyes.

He pulled away, scrambling to his feet, rushing to where he had left his robes. Potter was calling after him, “Wait, Draco – Malfoy, wait.”

Draco was fumbling for his wand, but he couldn’t remember the drying spell. The words wouldn’t come. He could only hear Potter coming up behind him, Potter asking, “Draco, what did you mean?” Potter grabbed his arm and Draco tried to shrug him off, only he was wet and the floor was slippery and he lost his balance. He fell hard.

Potter grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his shoulders, kneeling down by his side. “Draco, talk to me, please. What’s wrong?” He bent his head towards Draco, green eyes beseeching.

Draco snapped. Everything – everything, he just wanted everything to  _ go away. _ He placed his hands on Potter’s chest and shoved hard, sending Potter sprawling backwards on his arse, his mouth open in shock.

“I want you to  _ go away _ ,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes stinging. “This is a huge fucking mistake and I want you to go away and go back to your pretty little girlfriend and to leave me the  _ fuck _ alone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Malfoy?” Potter snarled. “What the hell do you mean a  _ mistake _ ?”

“I  _ mean _ that I only sucked your cock wondering if the Boy Who Lived could really come for other boys – and you really did.  _ And _ it turns out that the great Saviour is a common cheating  _ slut _ like anybody else – all you need to do to seduce him to drop your robes in front of him.” Draco couldn’t stop the words coming out of his mouth.

“Why are you saying these things?” Potter looked horrified.

“Because I don’t need your fucking help, Potter! You shouldn’t have pulled me from the Fiendfyre and you shouldn’t have saved me from Azkaban and I certainly don’t need your help with the fucking bullies. I can deal with it  _ myself _ !” Draco shouted. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Potter got to his feet slowly, keeping his eyes on Draco like Draco was some sort of rabid animal. He grabbed his bag and walked towards the door, dripping as he went. Draco watched him go.

At the door, he paused, turned to Draco and said bitterly, “Remembering our insults challenge? I think you lost, Malfoy.”

He left.

Draco sat on the wet bathroom floor. He was cold and sore and he refused to cry. He was no longer sixteen, reduced to weeping in lonely bathrooms. He told himself that day that he would never cry again and he hadn’t yet.

He found himself picking at the scabs on his Dark Mark instead.

_ Draco, what are you talking about? _

What he  _ couldn’t _ talk about: how Harry Potter didn’t deserve to be dragged into Draco’s problems again. Draco was so angry because he knew Potter had his own problems, he had enough to deal with without needing to be Draco’s champion. He was enraged because he didn’t want Potter to think he was weak, that a Malfoy in a post-war world was a creature to be protected.

What he  _ couldn’t _ talk about: how Harry Potter shouldn’t look at Draco that way and give him such ridiculous hopes when he had Ginny Weasley and Draco  _ liked _ Ginny Weasley, fucking hell. Draco loathed Potter for making him feel like Potter was  _ his _ even for a split second when he looked at Draco with those eyes.

What he  _ couldn’t _ talk about: how Harry Potter had broken down one night and Draco was only good for watching from the shadows. Draco hadn’t realised until that night that he had only played at being in love with Harry Potter, that he had only seen the masks Potter wore for the world, that Draco could never hope to break through his shell and he  _ wanted  _ to. Loving Harry Potter would be a messy thing and Draco knew he wasn’t much of a whole person himself, but Merlin, he wanted to love Harry Potter.

Well, it was too late now. Draco’s eyes were dry, but the tears he could have cried would have filled the entire pool.

\---

_ But everything is shattering and it's my mistake _

\- Troye Sivan, “FOOLS”

\---

Without the aid of a sleeping potion, Draco managed four hours of sleep before waking up, sweaty and tangled in his sheets. He pressed his hand to his damp forehead, listening to the snores of his roommates, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. He was here in Hogwarts, he was _here_ and the Dark Lord was dead and couldn’t order Draco to _Crucio_ anybody again.

When he was calm enough, he dressed and crept out of the room, his books, parchment, and stationery in his arms. The common room looked abandoned in the darkness, the Pit a gaping cavity. He poked the fire alive and sat at the secretary closest to it.

For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the fire and feeling the heaviness of too little sleep slosh around in his head. Inevitably – as it had been happening the past five days – Potter rose to the fore of his mind.

The first thing Daphne had said to him in the Great Hall the morning after the bathroom incident was, “What the fuck did you do to Potter?”

Instinctively, he looked up at the Gryffindor table. Potter sat with his back resolutely to Draco, but Granger and Weasley were sitting facing Draco and they were glaring at him as if they wish they could  _ Sectumsempra _ him. He looked away hastily. Did they know everything? Merlin, did Potter tell them  _ every _ aspect of his life?

“What do you mean?” he asked Daphne carefully.

She sat down next to him, levelling him with an uncharacteristically solemn look. “He came to me this morning, caught me just before I left the common room. He told me about Peeves, about how he’s trying to kill you, that he’s the one behind the staircase accident and he tried to trap you between walls? Anyway, Potter told me – commanded me, really – to stick with you all the time and to protect you from Peeves  _ and _ the bullies.

“When I asked him why he couldn’t do it himself since he has more classes in common with you than I do, he became bitter and sad and said something about you getting the wrong idea about him. And he said Granger, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and Lovegood would also be helping to keep an eye on you – but  _ not _ him. So – what the fuck did you do to Potter to make him look as if you told him the Dark Lord has returned to life?”

He had no proper answer for Daphne. As if he could tell her how he jerked Harry Potter off in the Prefects’ bathroom. She probed further and he lost his temper with her. He immediately apologised and she stopped asking and really did stick with him the whole day, even dragging him along to hang out with Alicia and her.

Still, she couldn’t be with him all the time and after Potions, a class she didn’t take, it was Granger who came up to him and said in a voice so frigid Draco thought she must have swallowed a whole vat of Ice Potion, “We are going to Arithmancy.”

Potter’s friends made no secret of detesting him – even Longbottom, who had been fairly civil, was cold to him now. But they dutifully obeyed Potter’s orders. They trailed behind Draco to classes, followed him to the library and brought him back to the dorms at the end of the day. Weasley had been appalled at the number of hours Draco spent in the library; only Granger seemed to grudgingly approve.

Under their watch, Draco almost died one more time. A suit of armour collapsed when he walked past, sending a battle axe flying towards his head. Longbottom saved him by tackling him to the ground.

Potter, in the meantime, pretended Draco didn’t exist. It would have suited Draco fine – this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Potter to leave him alone – except for the blistering sting in his chest whenever he saw Potter’s carefully blank expression or averted eyes.

On the first Saturday after the whole mess with Potter, Luna looked at him and shook her head. He was immediately defensive.

“Why are you so determined to be miserable, Draco?” she asked.

“Am I?” He was not expecting that.

“Yes, you are,” she said gently. “You are hurting Harry on purpose and that makes you miserable, so you’re making yourself miserable.”

He could only stare at her. Of all the people in the world, the only person he could ever wish to think well of him was Luna Lovegood. He didn’t mind that she thought he was a saint. In fact, he did what he could to embellish it. So he couldn’t tell her the truth, that he wasn’t hurting Potter on purpose. He was hurting Potter because that was what he did to people: he hurt them.

Draco groaned, scrubbing his face vigorously. He forced himself to turn away from the fire and to focus on his Advanced Arithmancy homework. He was working on an essay on the similarities between Muggle Physics and Arithmancy, but Merlin, Titus the Tenacious’ Law of the Seventh Try was so bloody boring.

He couldn’t spend his time thinking about Potter anymore. He was here in Hogwarts to earn his straight Os and then he would graduate, find a job in Potions and he would never see Potter again – and possibly be doomed to forever use their single encounter in the bathroom as wank material.

He groaned again. He would  _ stop _ thinking about Potter. He had been dealing fine with his life before Potter came into it again and he simply had to return to that state. So … Titus the Tenacious. He focused on the dense text.

He didn’t realise he had fallen asleep until Potter was shaking him awake. He lifted his head up, the parchment sticking to his cheek, blinking stupidly. It was still dark outside.

Potter’s face was pinched with concern. “You were crying out.”

“What time is it?” Draco asked unthinkingly, pulling the parchment from his cheek.

He stared at the smeared, nonsensical writing and crumpled the parchment up.

“Close to 5,” Potter answered as Draco tossed the parchment into the fire.

“What are you doing up?” Draco raised his eyebrows.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Potter shrugged and pulled a chair over next to Draco. “Have you been studying all night?”

Then the fog in Draco’s mind cleared a little and he realised just who it was he was speaking to. He blinked and carefully examined the other boy’s face. Potter was bleary-eyed and tired, but he looked … normal. There was none of that carefully blank look he had been wearing whenever he was in Draco’s vicinity.

Draco hesitated and said, “Yes.”

“Pomfrey wouldn’t approve,” Potter said teasingly.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Draco agreed, wondering if he was still asleep. “You have trouble sleeping?”

“Don’t we all?” Potter made a face. “Takes me a while to fall asleep and the dreams wake me up soon enough anyway.”

This had to be a dream, right? Because Potter, no, Harry – if this was a dream, Draco would get to call him Harry – was looking adorable and Draco wanted to kiss that spot on his cheek where there was a pillow crease.

Harry added, “I heard from Ernie you have trouble sleeping too.”

And the dream ended in a snap. Draco would not have such an unpleasant topic brought up in his dreams. In fact, if a dream should feature Potter, they wouldn’t simply be talking.

“Macmillan? What did he say?” he asked stiffly.

“No need to be so defensive,” Potter said, leaning back in his chair. “He mentioned in the passing that you’re hardly in your bed and he’d see you in the morning studying in the common room. He called you a maniac worse than Hermione.”

“Oh. Well, I doubt anyone can study more than Granger.”

“Yeah, especially since she took it as a challenge when she heard from Ernie. Ron isn’t happy with you because she’s turned all their dates into study dates now.” Potter was grinning at him.

Draco was tired but he knew he had to see where Potter was taking this. Potter had started this game for a reason, which Draco knew with a sinking feeling he was not going to like.

“Oh. Well, Weasley has more than one reason to hate me then,” Draco said.

Potter’s grin faded away and Draco missed seeing it already.

“Ron doesn’t hate you,” he said, looking down at his hands.

“No, like how Granger and you don’t hate me,” Draco took care to keep his tone light, almost joking.

Potter looked up sharply and his eyes were hard and serious. “I don’t hate you.”

And those four words stole Draco’s breath away. He sat there, clutching his quill, struggling to breathe and thinking he never could again because of the warm, expansive feeling that had bloomed in his chest.

Potter looked down again, twisting his hands together. “Although I wouldn’t blame you if you still hate me, especially not after what happened in the bathroom …”

For a moment, Draco wondered if he had slipped into an alternate reality. He had heard there were spells capable of that being developed in the Department of Mysteries.

“Still hate you?” he echoed carefully.

Potter wouldn’t look at him. “Well, you’ve hated me since first year, haven’t you?”

Draco stared at Potter and then very slowly, reached out a finger. Potter looked up, frowning as Draco’s finger came closer to his face. “What are you – ow! What was that for?” He clapped his hand to his reddened forehead, looking bewildered.

“Oh, just making sure you’re real,” Draco said calmly. “So you are real.”

“Of course I am!” Potter scowled at him. “What the hell, Malfoy?”

“Just making sure,” Draco repeated. “I have never hated you, Potter.”

Potter’s scowl darkened. “Oh, don’t bother lying. You didn’t bother to sugarcoat your words back in the bathroom.”

“I have never hated you. I was jealous of you. I was envious of you. I detested you a lot for always coming out on top and for stealing all the attention I wanted, but I never hated you.”

Potter’s eyes softened. “You never hated me, eh? Well, that’s nice to know. And you don’t hate me now?”

Draco laughed, leaning back in his chair. “How can I hate the Boy Who Lived?”

“I would if I thought he wanted sex in return for protection from a murderous poltergeist.” Potter looked at him seriously and unflinchingly.

Draco looked away, unable to bear Potter’s eyes any further. How could someone be so damnably good? And how could he be so  _ stupid _ as to believe some tripe Draco had pulled out of his arse in a panic? Honestly!

“I can never hate you, Potter,” he said softly and immediately regretted it.

He stared down hard at his clasped hands and wished he had more sleep and could think more clearly. After a short silence, Potter said, “Well, good then. So if we don’t hate each other, what are we?”

Draco shrugged. “Classmates?”

“What about just plain mates then?”

Draco gaped. “Mates?”

Potter took in the look on Draco’s face and glanced away. “Yeah … well, you’re no longer a school rival, are you? There’s no reason we can’t be friends. Luna already considers you a close friend.”

“Does she?” Draco couldn’t help smiling.

Warmth, soft and gold, bloomed in Draco’s chest at Potter’s words. Draco thought he was the only one who considered Luna a friend. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if Luna kept him around only because he was a good note taker.

“Of course,” Potter gave him a look touched by exasperation. “She talks about you too much. It’s always  _ Draco this  _ and  _ Draco that. _ I hear you discovered a new species of dust bunnies in the old Charms classroom, and that you’re thinking of sending a letter about it to  _ Magizoology Monthly _ .”

“Dust Doxy,” Draco corrected irritably because he didn’t like the look of Potter’s smirk, “it’s a subspecies of Doxy that lives in the dust of the old Charms classroom. It really has the most astonishing wing patterns. Luna and I think it must have been changed by all the magic that took place in the classroom. It looks like it has been hit with a _Multicorfus_ charm more than once too.”

Potter’s smirk had widened into a grin at the end of Draco’s speech. Draco rolled his eyes. Daphne responded in a similar way.

“You really have fun on those hunts with Luna.”

Draco shrugged.

“Do you think she’d let me join once in a while?” Potter’s tone was too casual.

Draco eyed him with suspicion. Potter was staring down at his hands. Luna would not turn away anybody who wanted to help her hunt her creatures in Hogwarts. She had not mentioned Potter had expressed any sort of interest before though. Truthfully, Draco didn’t like the idea of Potter joining them. He liked his time alone with Luna. Still, it was hardly his place to tell Potter to stay away and he didn’t want to sound like a possessive freak.

“Why not?” he finally said.

Potter looked up quickly. His smile lit his face, warm and mesmerising. Draco returned the smile instinctively. Were Potter’s smiles always like that? Well, he wouldn’t know, would he? Potter was more likely to glare than smile at him in the past.

He inhaled sharply, an ache twisting deep in his chest. He stared at Potter, remembering Potter moaning beneath him and his burning look of desire as he kissed Draco. Draco couldn’t deny it – Potter was as physically drawn to him as he was to Potter.

“What is it? Do I have something in my teeth again?” Potter’s smile turned self-deprecating.

“No … nothing … ” Draco was – absurdly – at a loss for words. He was desperately avoiding the implications of Potter’s attraction.

They fell into an awkward silence. Draco looked down at the parchment strewn across his desktop. There was a drool stain across the top one. He began to doddle around it, turning the drool stain into a dragon.

“Ginny and I broke up, you know,” Potter said.

Draco’s quill slipped and he added one neck too many to his Chinese Fireball. “Oh?” he managed to say with detached calm and congratulated himself. He didn’t look up from his doodle.

“Thought you might like to know. Neville says you glare at him almost as much as you glare at me. Ginny isn’t cheating on me. We’re not together anymore and she’s with Neville now.”

Draco looked up. Potter had drawn a leg up onto his chair and was resting his chin on his knee, hands clasped around his leg. There was a half-smile quirked on his shadowed face. Draco couldn’t read his eyes.

“Oh,” Draco said with the charming eloquence he was known for.

“And I’m bisexual,” Potter added matter-of-factly.

Draco suddenly found it easier to breathe. “Oh?”

“I thought you knew … when you, er, back in the, er, bathroom.” Potter took a deep breath.

Before he could plunge into the whole bathroom bollocks, Draco asked, “Why did you break up? I didn’t think people broke up with girls like her. She’d be the one doing the dumping.”

The other boy expelled his breath gustily. “She should have dumped me, but she was so determined to make it work … ” He shrugged. “Well, relationships end. No special reason.”

“What do you mean, no special reason?” Draco demanded, annoyed by his flippant dismissal of his relationship. “You’re bloody Harry Potter. You’re  _ supposed _ to marry your childhood sweetheart and have ten redheaded children.”

Ire flashed across Potter’s face. He glared at Draco. “Why is everybody so determined to plan my life for me? Ginny and I aren’t together anymore – and we’re not getting back together.”

“You don’t know what the future will hold,” Draco argued. “You can fall back in love.”

“We’re not because she’s fucking in love with Neville, alright?” Potter snapped. “And I don’t mind, I think they’re wonderful together and I hope they get married! So there goes your ten redheaded children plan.”

“Then you’re going to meet some other sweet girl and you are going to have ten black-haired children, I don’t know!” Draco wasn’t sure why he was so adamant about this; he just didn’t like the idea of a single Potter, a Potter who had to watch his friends be in love and have none of that for himself.

“Maybe it won’t be a girl, maybe I’ll end up with a bloke, have you thought of  _ that _ ?” Potter dropped his leg and sat up straight, leaning forward. The firelight dancing across his face seemed to set his eyes on fire.

“You can’t,” Draco said flatly. “People won’t like it.”

“Fuck them,” Potter said vehemently. “I’ve lived all my life shaped around Voldemort and now that he’s gone and I can think for myself how I want to live my life. I realised that I  _ don’t _ want to be an Auror anymore and I  _ don’t _ want to be the perfect little hero everybody seems to think I am. I don’t … ” He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know what I do want. All I know is that I’m not that hero anymore and I can no longer be that. I still don’t know what I’m going to do now … And there’s you, of course. People wouldn’t expect  _ us _ to be friends.”

Those green fire eyes flicked up to Draco’s face, but Draco was careful. He kept his face expressionless, patient, even though he felt like he had swallowed a mouth of undiluted Bubotuber pus.

So that was it. Potter only wanted him as part of his belated teenaged rebellion against society’s expectations and Draco was perfect for that. People could have accepted that Potter was bi, but what could be more repulsive than the Saviour with the Last Free Death Eater?

Potter was still talking. “For a while after killing Voldemort, I’ve been … I’ve been walking about this  _ fog _ , I guess, in my chest, especially after all those funerals, but when you piss me off … it, er, it gets through the fog and I … ” He looked sheepish. “I’ve been goading you on purpose sometimes.”

Draco snorted. “And that’s Harry Potter’s new purpose in life, is it? To irritate the bollocks off Draco Malfoy?”

Potter half-smiled. “Well, you irritate me too, don’t worry.”

“How pleasant to have a friendship based on mutual annoyance,” Draco remarked.

Potter’s face lit up. “So we’re mates?”

Draco took a deep breath. He didn’t care if Potter was only using him; he understood why Potter should. All it mattered was that it gave him an excuse to stay by Potter’s side.

His smile brittle and careful, he said, “Yes.”

\---

_ My fingers in creases of distant dark places _

\- Snow Patrol, “Set Fire To The Third Bar”

\---

During the war, Draco spent most of his time in his room, lying on his bed, staring up at the sagging center of the green canopy. He was always cold and always listening for the screams that erupted from the dungeons. In that dark place where the Dark Lord crawled, Draco kept himself sane by thinking only of the present day, focusing on the warp and weft of the canopy above him, the feel of the counterpane beneath him.

Being Potter’s friend was much like that: Draco looked at Potter and listened to Potter and laughed with Potter, knowing that one day soon, he wouldn’t have the chance again.

Being Potter’s friend also meant spending a lot of time with his other friends, especially with them forming the majority of the Protect Draco Malfoy from Peeves and the Bullies Squad.

Ginny was the first person to react when Potter pulled Draco with him to the Pit, where Granger, Weasley, Ginny and Longbottom were sitting.

“Draco!” she exclaimed, pulled him to her side and proceeded to bully him into agreeing with her the Holyhead Harpies was going to beat Puddlemere United in the upcoming Quidditch match.

Ginny was, of course, already determined to see the best in Draco – he blamed Luna’s influence – and took Draco’s overnight friendship with Potter quite well. Longbottom – or  _ Neville _ , as he had insisted one afternoon,  _ it’s weird to hear you call me Longbottom when everybody else calls me Neville  _ – was puzzled, but he didn’t protest. He seemed to have taken the  _ Well, whatever makes you happy, Harry _ attitude.

Weasley and Granger were, naturally, a very different story. From the offset, they were suspicious of Draco and clearly thought he could only hurt Potter. He couldn’t blame them and took care to be polite to them, even when there were moments his patience was sorely tested by Weasley.

Weasley was the more aggressively anti-Malfoy of the two, but he was the first to mellow. When he found out that Draco was an avid wizard’s chess player, he reluctantly asked Draco for a game. Apparently, Potter and Granger were abysmal players. The first game, Draco won, which only goaded Weasley into asking him for more games. When Weasley won, an irritated Draco would coerce Weasley into a game and so it went on until the end of the month when Draco managed to pull off a particularly tricky move and Weasley looked up, grinned and said, “Blimey, that was bloody well done, Malfoy!”

Neither of them could bring themselves to call the other by their first names, which was fine because it suited the kind of tentative chess-fuelled camaraderie they shared now.

Granger, on the other hand, was the sort who had expectations and ideas of how certain things should be done. After two weeks of their studying together in the library after Arithmancy – they had transitioned so naturally into study sessions together, Draco couldn’t tell when it began – Draco set his quill down and decided to get it over and done with.

“Granger.”

“Hmm?” She looked at him, a smudge of ink on her cheek, her eyes slightly crossed from the notes she was scribbling. “Did you figure out Melissa’s Finicky Formula?”

“I’m sorry.” The two words tore out of him, leaving the walls of his throat bleeding and swollen.

Her scribbling paused and she blinked, focusing on him.

He had been there in the drawing room when Bellatrix tortured her. He had seen the way her body contorted, her eyes rolling up, her mouth open in a long, long scream; he thought she would remain in that twisted, crippled shape forever. That night, he sat on his bed and scratched at his Dark Mark to force himself to remain in the present.

He was sorry he hadn’t been able to do a thing and he was sorry he had been such an ignorant prat when they were younger. He was sorry that there was nothing he could do to take away her pain, to take away all their pain because they deserved none of it and he deserved all of it.

“You are, aren’t you?” she asked quietly. “Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s an act with you, Malfoy. It’s logical, the way you go about cultivating this quiet, studious image, helping the first years with their homework, hanging out with Luna and through her, you got to Ginny … and Harry. But Harry’s always been a different story, I suppose,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “But then , at other times, there are moments like this and the way you look at Harry sometimes … I can’t tell, honestly, I can’t tell if you’re being genuine.”

“Well, I’m hardly likely to tell you if I am, don’t you think?” he replied coolly and she snorted. “I’m not using anybody, especially not Luna. What kind of friend are you, to say that she’s only good enough to be a friend when she can be used?”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t – ”

“I like Luna, okay? She’s kind and strange and good , and the lot of you won’t get between us,” Draco said fiercely.

“Fine, I’m sorry I said that about her,” Granger said with genuine regret. “What about Harry then? I swear, if you are planning to hurt him, Ron and I will send you right to Azkaban.”

“Bit late for that threat, considering  _ Harry _ was the one who got me out of there,” Draco retorted. “And I won’t hurt him. He’s my friend now and , believe what you want of Slytherins, but we take care of our own and I won’t hurt Potter.”

She looked at him with unnervingly astute eyes. Finally, she said, “No, you won’t. I remember Luna saying this once: you are more likely to hurt yourself than Harry. Now I know what she meant.”

Draco blinked.

“So,” she continued, picking up her quill again. “Have you come up with anything for the Finicky Formula?”

Studying with Granger was a revelation. The two of them were constantly vying for top student and that made them perfect study partners for each other, much to their friends’ none-too-secret relief. There were aspects of magic he struggled with that she excelled in and vice versa; their vast differences in upbringing resulted in contrasting outlooks on magic that worked well when brought together.

She became Hermione quite smoothly one day when they managed to complete a particularly challenging Advanced Arithmancy problem together. Grinning with satisfaction, she exclaimed, “Good work, Draco!”.

So while Draco didn’t quite manage to become best friends with Potter’s best friends, he somehow gained a chess partner and study buddy out of two people who had loathed him. As Daphne told him, it was a bloody miracle.

It turned out, too, that Daphne had known about Potter and Ginny’s breakup all along and found it exceedingly amusing that Draco could be so thick. Daphne’s brand of friendship was certainly something to get used to.

Knowing that Potter was using him made it easier to bear being protected. If Potter could use him, he could use Potter right back and there were vast advantages to being associated with Harry Potter. Sure, people stared and whispered about Draco using the Imperius Curse, but more first years – including one or two from Ravenclaw, who were friends with the Slytherin first years – turned up for his tutoring sessions now. And best of all, the bullies left him alone.

Peeves, too, had paused his assault, as if confused by the new state of friendship between Draco and Potter. He was still nowhere to be found, much to the Bloody Baron’s reported ire. The Baron had taken to Peeves as some sort of serf.

As October blew itself out, Draco’s bruises and aches faded and there were no new ones layered atop them.

Hallowe’en found Draco sitting in the Pit, with a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand, surrounded by the other eighth years and a few seventh years. It was turning out to be one of the wildest benders the Pit had seen since the one at the start of term. Nearly everybody was more than halfway pissed.

Draco sat with Daphne, sedately sipping his first drink.

The teachers had decorated the castle with the restraint of a five-year-old child in Honeyduke’s. Jack-o’-lanterns were everywhere, some of which piped up in a conversation when one least expected it. Bonfires were set up in courtyards, with chestnuts and potatoes and corn set to the side to be roasted.

The whole week, Draco watched on as Potter struggled to hold himself together. The whole week, while he sat waiting in the shadows of the common room, he watched Potter come down to the empty room and stare unseeingly into the dying fire. Now, he watched  on as Potter got himself ridiculously drunk. 

“Well, Draco, now you’ve done it,” Daphne said from beside him.

“Done what?”

Potter was playing a guessing game with Thomas and losing very badly – on purpose , Draco suspected.

“You’ve managed to wash off some of the dirt on the Slytherin name,” she said, making him look at her sharply and frown.

Using her glass, she indicated to the left of the Pit, where the other Slytherin eighth years sat, drinking laughingly with the Hufflepuffs.

“I didn’t become friends with Potter hoping it would make being a Slytherin more socially acceptable,” he replied tersely.

“I know,” she shrugged. “You became friends with him because that’s what you’ve wanted since first year. I’m just pointing out the inadvertent benefits. And now, excuse me while this Slytherin goes and hits on a Ravenclaw.”

She downed her glass of rum and got to her feet. Eventually, she made her swaying, unsteady way over to Padma Patil, with whom she began to flirt outrageously, much to the amusement of the people around them.

His view of Daphne’s shamelessness was soon obstructed by a giddy Ginny Weasley, who came to claim Daphne’s place.

“Greengrass is fearless,” Ginny commented, collapsing into the cushions next to him.

Draco smiled wryly. “Well, she just went through a breakup and she told me she’s always fancied the Patils, but Parvati’s out of the question, of course, what with her being a Gryffindor and all.”

“Of course,” Ginny echoed, rolling her eyes.

She took a long draught of her Dragon Scale beer and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. Then, she slumped back against the cushions, and Draco, her head lolling on his shoulder and her loose hair tickling his neck. He could smell the lemony scent of her shampoo.

“Best way to spend a Saturday night,” she murmured, her beer breath wafting to him.

“How many beers have you had?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Hmm … three? Four? You still on that same glass of Firewhiskey?”

“I know how to pace myself,” he retorted with a sniff.

She snorted. “Sure.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the rest of the Pit from their comfortable spot.

Harry had given up on playing the game now. He slouched on gold-edged, burgundy cushions, languid and regal as a lion. He was staring down at his empty glass.

“I think Potter has had too much drink,” Draco said. “Where are his caretakers?”

“Ron and Hermione are  _ busy _ ,” Ginny giggled.

Draco did a quick scan of the Pit. The two of them were nowhere to be seen. He grimaced, not wanting to imagine exactly what they could be up to.

“Well, we should get Potter up to bed. He wouldn’t want to make a fool of himself out here,” Draco said.

He was clambering to his feet when Ginny grabbed him and yanked him back. He fell back onto the cushions, splashing what was left of his Firewhiskey down his front. “Damnit, Weasley!”

“You can’t leave the party yet,” she complained. “Come on, Draco, you need to drink more!”

She rose to her knees and loomed over him. He leaned back, eyes wide. She grabbed his chin, tipped his head back and pressed her bottle against his lips. He sputtered and choked as beer poured down his chin and neck. He gulped down quite a few mouthfuls as well.

“Ginny!” he shouted then, pushing her back, but she was not to be daunted.

She leaned in closer, straddling his lap, and her fingers dug in his chin. She would have poured the entire bottle down his front if Neville hadn’t appeared to pull her back.

“Ginny, you are a horrid drunk,” he chastised, looking amused at the sight of a Draco half-drowned by beer.

“A bloody horrible one!” Draco shouted, shaking his head forcefully, revolted at the beer that had gotten up his nose.

Ginny giggled, struggling to get off his lap. “You were drinking so slowly! Too slowly. I only want you to have fun too.”

Movement across the Pit caught his eye. He looked up to see Potter moving towards them. He was stumbling all over the place and he looked  _ angry _ .

“Come on then, my girl,” Neville said, sliding his arms under Ginny’s armpits and hauling her off Draco.

“Nevvy!” she cried out, delighted, and immediately transferred her arms around his neck.

Neville blushed, muttering something intelligibly, as he pulled her over to join Luna and the other Ravenclaws, Ginny talking loudly about how  _ lovely _ it was that Nevvy was here to have fun with her. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and returned his attention to Potter.

Merlin, Potter looked utterly furious, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed.

“Malfoy!” he shouted even as he stood right at Draco’s feet.

He probably didn’t mean to fall onto Draco’s lap, but he tripped over his own feet and fell heavily onto Draco, his elbow jabbing right into Draco’s stomach.

“Oof! Potter, damnit!”

He struggled to push Potter off, but the other boy was damned  _ heavy _ and drunkenly clumsy. Draco managed to hold Potter up by his shoulders. The rest of Potter pinned Draco’s legs down, Potter’s arms on either side of Draco’s waist as he blinked up at Draco, barely a finger’s length between their faces.

“Mind getting off, Potter?” Draco asked sarcastically.  _ Quick, before my cock reacts in a way I can’t control! _

Potter scowled belligerently. “ _ You _ didn’t mind when Ginny was all over you. No. I am not moving.”

And he dropped his weight entirely onto Draco, burying his face into Draco’s stomach, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. Draco sat there, holding his arms up, utterly horrified because he could feel Potter’s warm breath against his stomach and his knee was pressed up against Potter’s crotch and  _ shit _ , his own cock was starting to react.

He looked up for help but everybody was busy with their own pleasure and when Daphne caught his eye, she merely gave him a thumbs up in response to his mouthed “HELP”. Draco looked down at Potter, who was presently nuzzling his belly button, and took a deep breath. He knew Potter was only putting on a show, but damn, did the idiot think Draco’s body was immune to desire?

“Potter,” he said, putting a hand on Potter’s head and  _ fuck _ , his hair was soft and thick and begging for Draco to run his fingers through. “Potter, let’s go somewhere more private.”

“Private?” Potter perked up at that, lifting his head up. “Do you want to? I thought – after what happened – you don’t want to do anything like that with me.”

“No, of course not,” Draco kept his tone light, flirtatious. “Come on, Potter. Let’s go to your dorm.”

“Alright,” Potter pushed himself up with surprising speed and immediately toppled over. “Ow … might need help here, Malfoy.”

It was slow, manoeuvring Potter out of the Pit, and even worse going through the common room because at least the Pit had cushions for soft landings. By the time they were in the corridor leading to the dorms, Potter had fallen five times and dragged Draco down with him twice. With relief, Draco pushed at the room door and found it locked. He swore under his breath. No questions why the door was locked on a night like this.

Potter, his arm slung around Draco’s shoulders, his cheek pressed up against Draco’s chest, muttered, “Whatsamatter?”, sending warm breath brushing against Draco’s neck. Draco gritted his teeth. Fine, Potter could have his bed for tonight then.

He kicked open the next door and thank Merlin, it opened. Grunting, he hauled Potter in and deposited him on his neatly made bed. Potter lay sprawled across it, eyes closed, loose-limbed. Draco sighed and began to arrange Potter more comfortably on the bed, removing his shoes and tucking his legs in.

As he was pulling the blankets over him, Potter’s eyes snapped open, and Draco found himself drowning in green.

“Aren’t we supposed to be snogging?” Potter asked quizzically.

“Maybe later,” Draco said with an amused smile. “You take a nap first, Potter.”

“No,” Potter grabbed Draco’s hand. “I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want the dreams to come. I want to kiss you, Malfoy. Come on.”

“No,” Draco leaned back because Potter was leaning in. “Later. I need – I need to go to the bathroom first.”

Potter squeezed Draco’s hand tightly and jerked him in hard. Draco fell forward and found himself kneeling on the floor, half on the bed, his hands held tightly between Potter’s.

“Don’t go,” Potter whispered, his glasses sliding down his nose. “If you go, you’re not coming back and you’re leaving me alone here, aren’t you? Are you still mad about what happened in the bathroom? I won’t do it again, I promise, Malfoy. You don’t need to do any of that, I don’t need it, but don’t go, don’t go.”

“Alright, I won’t,” Draco said gently. “Let me up, won’t you?”

Potter released his hands and scooted over, making space for Draco beneath the blanket. Draco sat on top of the blanket, looking down at Potter lying in his bed, his head on the pillow. Potter was squinting up at him.

“It hurts my neck to look up at you,” he complained.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

He lay down, pillowing his arm beneath his head. He faced Potter, so close Draco could smell the alcohol on Potter’s breath. When Potter exhaled, warm beery breath wafted over Draco’s lips. Potter’s eyes were dark with inexpressible emotion, fixed on Draco’s face. Draco couldn’t tell if he was dizzy from the Firewhiskey or Potter’s proximity.

_ How,  _ he wondered _ , do I always find myself in stupidly dangerous situations with him? _

“Do you know what day it is today?” Potter asked, his voice soft.

“Yes.”

“Seventeen years ago , today, Voldemort killed my parents,” he said.

The words echoed in the silence between them. Draco didn’t look away from Potter’s eyes. He couldn’t.

“Do you miss them?” he asked.  _ I miss my father sometimes. _

Potter was silent for so long, Draco thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, his voice breaking, Potter said, “No. It makes me a horrible person, but  _ no _ , I don’t miss them because I don’t know them. I miss the life that could have been if Voldemort hadn’t killed them. I could have been a normal boy … I think about everything else that had been lost in the war, all the people who had died … those who hadn’t been able to come back …”

Potter cried without shame. He made no attempt to hide the tears falling from his eyes, dripping sideways to dampen Draco’s pillow. He didn’t look away from Draco, either not caring that Draco would judge or knowing that Draco would never.

In that instant, Draco realised he was still insanely jealous of Harry Potter. Regardless of whether it was concerning school, popularity or else, no matter what, he could never be better than Harry Potter. How easily Potter could have turned out bad, could have given into despair and the wizarding world would have been lost to Voldemort. Yet, somehow, Potter held on to that innate goodness and turned away from the beckoning darkness in a way Draco had never had the courage to do.

_ Unfair _ , he wanted to scream.  _ Unfair, unfair, unfair! _ Perhaps that was why he had been so envious of Potter growing up; he had known even then that Harry Potter was too good, and he had only ever wanted the attention of this astonishing person.

Draco didn’t say anything. He reached out and touched Potter’s cheek with his fingertips. Potter closed his eyes and leaned into his palm.  _ Merlin. _ Potter’s skin was warm and wet , and touching him made the dagger wrench harder in Draco’s chest.

After a while, Draco asked, “Potter. You know, those Muggles you lived with? How did you survive them?” He had been wondering about it ever since Potter told him he had been starved as a child. He was struggling to imagine how that sad, lost child could have taken up the unwanted mantle of a hero and lost so much more, and still became this sad, kind man lying across from him. 

Potter grimaced. “Really? You want to talk about that?”

“I want to know, yes, but you don’t have to – ”

“It’s alright,” Potter interjected. “It’s all connected, isn’t it? Voldemort killing my parents, me being sent to the Dursleys. I don’t like talking about it, but I’ll tell you, Malfoy.”

So Draco lay there on his bed, his hand on the other man’s cheek, listening to Harry Potter talk about his childhood. Potter tried not to be angry, but Draco could hear the anger lurking beneath his careful words, the frustration, the echo of a child who couldn’t understand why he was being rejected. Draco wanted to break the Dursleys into pieces and watch their warm blood pool beneath their twitching bodies.

As Potter talked, he watched Draco’s face closely and, once or twice, paused to search Draco’s eyes. Draco stroked Potter’s cheekbone with his thumb, not making a sound until Potter had finished speaking.

The dark-haired boy then asked bitterly, “You’re pitying me, aren’t you?” .

“No,” Draco answered, surprised. “Why would I?”

“Well … people always think it’s a tragedy, my childhood.”

“Even if it is, you can’t change it. I don’t pity you; there’s nothing pitiful about you, bloody annoying, yes, but never,  _ never _ pitiful. I think you’re more of a great bloody Gryffindor than ever. You are truly a hero, aren’t you, Potter? Even if you don’t want to be one. How you could have gone through all that and still be so … I don’t know how you do it.”

Was it Veritaserum or Firewhiskey that he had drunk? All he knew was that Potter’s skin was warm beneath his hand and Potter was looking at him as if Draco were the sun, the moon and the stars combined.

“Be so what?” Potter placed his hand over Draco’s on his cheek. He was moving in closer, the tip of his nose brushing Draco’s.

“Amazing,” Draco breathed.

His lips were throbbing. He could feel Potter’s breath, Potter’s warmth against them. Potter transferred his hand to the back of Draco’s head and pulled Draco in towards him. Draco’s eyes closed and their lips met. Soft, oh, Merlin, Potter’s lips were so soft and he tasted of sweet rum and bitter beer. Longing quivered through them both and Potter’s hand slipped down to Draco’s neck while Draco’s hand somehow ended up buried in Potter’s hair.

Draco pressed harder against Potter, their lips moving and catching against each other. One moment, Draco was desperately sucking on Potter’s bottom lip; the next, Potter was nibbling on his. Their mouths opened and Potter’s tongue was in Draco’s mouth. Sweet Salazar, Potter was kissing him as if he were fighting him and it aroused him like nothing else.

Draco pulled away because he had to breathe. His lips were tingling. He stared at Potter, whose glasses were askew and eyes wild with desire.

He told himself he wouldn’t kiss Potter again. He shouldn’t torture himself like that. It was hard enough just being next to Potter. He couldn’t give into temptation and taste what it might have been like if he was involved in anything else but friendship because he knew Potter was only associating with him for the scandal of it.

Merlin, he knew Potter was using him, but it was so easy to forget that when Potter smiled at him, when he moved to Draco’s side whenever Draco entered a room, when he teased him about his Dust Doxy obsession. Sometimes, Draco wished he didn’t know Potter’s ulterior motive. He wished he could just believe Potter wanted to be with him for the sake of being with him.

He had accused Potter of being a masochist, but Draco was as much as masochist, really. Fine then, let Potter use him. If anything, Draco knew he deserved what he must suffer when it ended.

“Kiss me again,” Potter begged, green eyes dark with want. “Draco.”

Draco obeyed. He closed his eyes, pressed his lips against Potter’s and felt that broad mouth spread into that smile he loved so much. His chest was being torn apart by white-hot pain and Draco couldn’t care less.

\---

_ Oh, you'll never know how much I love you so _

\- Snow Patrol, “The Garden Rules”

\---

The news that Draco Malfoy was Harry Potter’s boyfriend only exploded through Hogwarts after the first tutoring session since Hallowe’en. Potter had insisted on coming , and spent the lesson sitting at the back of the classroom, lounging in his chair and watching Draco with molten eyes. Eyes that made Draco want to snog him stupid in front of the group of wide-eyed first years.

At the end of the lesson, while Draco was pretending to tidy up his papers at the front, one of the first years stopped by his desk. He looked up and suppressed a groan. It was Avery, a tiny pipsqueak who nevertheless believed she knew best.

“Is Harry Potter bothering you?” she asked without preamble.

Draco blinked at her in surprise. “What?”

“Well, it was only Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and the rest of the hero squad following you around, glaring at you at first, but Potter’s been doing it for the past two weeks too.”

“What, glaring at me?”

“No,” Avery looked at him with disgust for being so thick. “ _ Following _ you around, Malfoy. If he’s bothering you, I can help you deal with him.”

Draco blinked some more at the thought of little Avery going up against Potter, who had at least four stone on her. He glanced up and saw that Potter was walking towards them, smiling at Draco. His stomach twisting pleasantly, Draco looked back at Avery and said, “No, Potter isn’t bothering me.”

“Okay. Good, because you don’t deserve to be hounded by him too. See you later then, Malfoy,” she said and turned away.

When she saw Potter, she stopped and said, “You stay away from Malfoy, Harry Potter.”

She marched off with her head held up, Potter and Draco gawping after her.

“What was that about?” Potter wanted to know, coming up to Draco and pinning him against the desk.

“I believe, Potter, that  that was Avery trying to protect my chastity,” Draco said, his eyes on Potter’s lips.

“Oh?” Potter leaned in; Draco could smell his aftershave and nearly lost control. “Do you want your chastity protected, Malfoy?”

“Will you kiss me already?” Draco retorted, grabbing the front of Potter’s robes and yanking him in.

They spent a few long, wonderful moments snogging furiously, until Draco’s toes were curling in his shoes. He groaned when they parted, panting. Potter placed his hands on Draco’s waist and lifted him up on the desk. Draco wrapped his legs around Potter  and , trapping him against the desk, took Potter’s face between his hands. He then began to thoroughly explore Potter’s mouth.

The door clattered open. “Malfoy – ”

They sprang apart. Avery stood in the doorway, gaping at them. Potter clearly looked like he had been snogging, his lips wet, his robes rumpled, and his expression unmistakably guilty. Schooling his expression, Draco asked from his perch on the desk, “Yes, Avery?”

“Is he – ” Avery’s bright-bird eyes darted between the two of them. “Is he  _ forcing _ you, Malfoy?”

“No!” Potter exclaimed at the same time Draco said placidly, “No.”

“Why are you two snogging then?” Avery demanded; just like during their tutoring sessions, Avery would pick at a worm until she was satisfied it had come out.

“We’re going out,” Potter blurted and Draco’s heart stuttered.

Potter looked at him anxiously, as if afraid Draco was going to deny it. After all, they hadn’t made any thing explicit between them. Every moment they were alone since Hallowe’en was spent kissing. Draco didn’t say anything; he would take anything Potter would give him.

“What?” Avery was completely flabbergasted and she looked like she had been given the wrong answers all along.

Potter, emboldened by Draco’s lack of denial, stepped up and took Draco’s hand. Draco noticed that his palm was damp.

“We’re going out,” Potter repeated bravely.

“Oh … I …  I  am going to go now …” she told them, spun around and fled, the door slamming shut behind her.

They stood in the ringing silence for a long moment before Draco sighed. “She’s going to tell the whole school, you know. And by tonight, the entire wizarding world will know too.”

“I don’t care,” Potter said fiercely.

He wrapped his arms around Draco and proceeded to show him just why he didn’t care the world knew Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were snogging. But Draco knew Potter  _ did _ care, that was why he had chosen Draco for his rebellious experiment in the first place.

However, Potter was rather dense about flaunting the huge  _ fuck-you-I-will-not-be-who-you-want-me-to-be _ sign that was dating Draco Malfoy.

Being Potter’s boyfriend was hardly any different from being Potter’s friend. They sat together with Potter’s friends and Daphne in the Pit, sometimes next to each other, sometimes not. Potter never did anything more than press his arm against Draco’s. During classes, he sat with Draco sometimes, but usually left him and Daphne alone.

If they did hold hands, it was Draco who initiated it, and Potter would always blush and look away, even though he never pulled away. Weasley always rolled his eyes when that happened. But besides the occasional hand-holding, Potter wasn’t showing off his new Death Eater boyfriend.

Draco felt like telling him that it was perfectly fine with him if Potter wanted to come over in the Great Hall in the middle of dinner, sit on Draco’s lap and snog him right then and there. Draco knew he had no right to it, but he wanted the world to know that Harry Potter was  _ his _ , even for a split second.

Potter became Harry one afternoon when they were kissing in a quiet courtyard and Draco inadvertently moaned, “ _ Harry. _ ”.

Harry pulled away from his neck and looked at him with wide eyes. “What did you just say?”

Draco blinked at him, wondering muzzily why Harry’s lips weren’t on his neck, and realised his mistake. He opened his mouth, but Harry smiled, slow and wide.

“You called me Harry,” he said and dived in to kiss Draco so fiercely that Draco forgot calling him  _ Harry _ was an intimacy he hadn’t wanted to broach.

Draco couldn’t quite go back to calling him Potter after that.

Harry’s name wasn’t the only thing Draco found himself saying when he was in Harry’s arms. There was a night when they were lying in the Pit, taking a breather after a snogging session that left Draco hard and aching, their hands tangled together.

Draco listened to Harry’s breathing slow. He desperately wished he could rip Harry’s robes off and rut against Harry’s erection until they both came, but this was Harry’s game and he made the rules. If he didn’t want Draco any further than snogging, Draco wasn’t about to debase himself by begging for it.

“Draco?”

“Hmm?” Draco was busy enjoying the sensation of Harry’s thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand.

“The dreams that keep you up at night … what are they like?”

Draco immediately pulled his hand away. “Why are you asking?” His words came out sharper than he had intended.

Harry rolled over onto his front, his hair impossibly mussed up, and braced himself up onto his elbows. His face was earnest. “We’re always talking about  _ me _ and you know about my nightmares and all about being on the run last year, everything that happened to the three of us … I want to know what you went through.”

Draco stared at him. Gently, Harry took him into his arms. Draco lay curled against Harry, his back to Harry’s chest, Harry’s arms tight and warm around him. He could feel Harry’s breath against the back of his neck and shivered.

“Will you tell me?”

So Draco did. He told Harry about taking the Dark Mark; about his flight in the night with Snape after trying to kill Dumbledore; about Voldemort living in his house; about the screaming that kept him up at night; about being cold, so fucking cold all the time; about being so fucking scared he wished Voldemort would kill him already.

He was shaking so hard, his teeth clenched, that Harry was stroking his hair slowly and comfortingly, murmuring soft assurances. After a while, when there was only the sound of breathing between them, Harry said, “I’m sorry, Draco.”. 

Astounded, Draco flipped around so he could look at Harry. Harry’s face was soft with sorrow. Draco placed a hand on his cheek.

“Why?” he asked, baffled.

“I’m sorry I panicked and almost killed you instead of asking you what was wrong.”

Draco snorted and leaned in, resting his forehead against Harry’s. He closed his eyes and drank in Harry’s warmth.

“Don’t even try, Potter. You couldn’t have saved me then. I  _ wanted _ to serve the Dark Lord, wanted to prove my worth, to be the one to save my parents.”  _ That’s why I can never give you the apology you want. _

“I  _ am _ sorry I almost killed you – did I say that?” Harry’s fingers brushed Draco’s chest.

“No, but well, better late than never, Saint Potter,” Draco murmured. “Besides, it’s better now that I know you almost killed me out of panic and not disgust.”

“Disgust?” Harry pulled back and Draco opened his eyes to see the confusion in Harry’s eyes. “Why would I be disgusted?”

“I thought you knew then, I thought you knew about my feelings for you and that you were disgusted by it, that you were homophobic.” Draco stopped himself before he could say anything more damaging, but too late, Harry had latched onto the  _ my feelings _ bit.

And that was how Harry found out Draco had a terrible crush on him in sixth year, thought Harry was following him around because he felt the same way and panicked because he couldn’t have  _ Harry Potter _ find out his plans to let Death Eaters into the school to kill Dumbledore.

“I was a huge mess back then,” Draco admitted. “Merlin, I wanted you so much and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to fuck you or kill you. It was ridiculous. Here I was wanting Harry Potter and there I was serving his worst enemy.  It was a miracle that I didn’t completely lose my mind.”

“And you wanted me, even back then,” Harry marvelled, playing with the strands of Draco’s hair. “You  _ wanted _ me.”

“Yes, Potter, I just said that,” Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry smiled and Draco’s heart clenched. Before Draco could take another breath, Harry kissed him, and the rest of the world went away.

\---

_ Love, if your wings are broken, borrow mine ‘til yours can open too _

\- Rachel Platten, “Stand By You”

\---

Somehow or other, between studying and snogging Harry Potter, November slipped away and December was well under way. The last of the orange-red leaves clinging to branches were swept aside, leaving behind bare-boned skeletons black against grey cold skies. Warming spells were used more and more often, and students sneaked jugs of hot chocolate and pots of steaming hot tea into common rooms any time of the day.

People didn’t so much oppose Harry and Draco’s relationship than goggled in disbelief whenever they saw them. Mostly, they kept their protests to themselves, and Harry’s friends surrounded them as a sort of insulation from the outside world. Weasley and Hermione watched Draco warily, but kept their silence in the face of Harry’s smiles and laughter. Most of the eighth years rallied around them, people like Macmillan , commenting knowingly about years of unresolved sexual tension.

The Slytherins were the smuggest of all, with Blaise saying, “Well, that explains why Draco would go on and on and  _ on _ about Potter in the Slytherin common room.” . Harry had insisted on knowing what Draco had said  _ precisely _ and he and the Slytherins – including a triumphant, smirking Daphne – spent a long evening rehashing Draco’s humiliating statements.

Thomas, who had been imprisoned in Draco’s dungeons after all, and Finnigan, Thomas’ boyfriend, could not bring themselves to support Harry. Draco could tell it disappointed Harry, but Harry didn’t say a word about breaking it off.

Draco knew there would harsher responses than mere avoidance and braced for it. The first squall came one afternoon in early December. Draco was standing outside the Hog’s Head waiting for Harry to finish chatting with the barkeep, Abe, whom Harry had said was Dumbledore’s younger brother. Draco found it hard to believe the grumpy, dirty wizard with lots of grey hair and smelling faintly of goat could be related to Dumbledore.

The others had left first after a lunch of fish and chips: Weasley and Hermione to go on a date, Neville and Ginny as well. Luna went off to find Ravenclaw friends at Tomes and Scrolls. Harry and Draco were heading back to the castle.

Draco breathed in the clean, crisp air. The wind whistled through the almost bare branches of fiery orange trees, sending leaves spinning to the ground. The lane was carpeted with dried, crunchy leaves.

The sound of feet kicking up leaves caused Draco to look up. A group of students were making their way to the Hog’s Head. From the way they were pushing each other and staggering, they had had a few already.

Draco stiffened. Getting caught alone in a quiet lane was very much the same as alone in an empty corridor in the castle. They saw him, and their noise died down almost immediately. There were six of them, boys and girls, sixth and seventh years from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The air was heavy with tension as they eyed Draco with disdain.

“Slytherins aren’t welcome at Hog’s Head,” a girl with blonde hair and an angular, bony face said flatly. “Especially not convicted Death Eaters.” Her voice was familiar.

“As you are a Gryffindor, I will excuse your inability to comprehend the articles the  _ Daily Prophet  _ wrote for a week, covering my trial. In general, they reported that I was  _ not _ convicted. There, no thanks needed for teaching you a little something today,” Draco replied coldly.

He slipped his wand out of his sleeve.

“You pompous little fucker,” hissed a boy, a dark-skinned, scowling beanpole. “No, wait, I’m wrong, aren’t I?  _ You _ ’re the one getting fucked by Harry Potter. Potter’s little Death Eater slut. Do you beg to suck his cock every night, filthy scum?”

“Why? Are you interested in having me suck your cock?”

The boy flushed and his friends burst into jeers, hurling abuse at Draco. He drew his wand. Draco was about to cast a Shield when he was hit with a Stinging Hex. He grunted, staggering back against the Hog’s Head’s filthy windows. His face was on fire. It felt like someone had grinded Fire Slug mucus into his skin.

“What the hell!” the skinny boy cried out. “Who did that?”

The group erupted into protests and denials. Draco dropped his shopping bags, fumbling for his wand. Before he could cast a Shield Charm, a jinx slammed him hard into the wall, hard enough for his head to crack against the window and for white light to skitter across his vision.

“I’m not doing anything!” the boy shouted. “ _ Who _ ’s doing that?”

“ _ Protego _ !” Harry came bursting out of Hog’s Head, his wand drawn.

He stood in front of Draco, his face blazing with rage. “YOU FUCKING COWARDS!”

“I didn’t do anything, Harry,” the boy protested in a shaking voice. “I swear by Merlin’s beard! The spell came out of nowhere.”

“He didn’t cast it,” the blonde girl said.

She flinched away from Harry’s glare, but didn’t retract her statement. Harry snarled, surveying the group of them cowering in front of him. Draco caught sight of a dark-haired Ravenclaw girl glaring at him. Did she think he could fake the pain from a blatant Stinging Hex?

In pain as he was, Draco couldn’t help feeling sorry for the lot of them. He had been on the receiving end of Harry’s loathing often enough.

“If you  _ dare _ hurt him again, I swear you will regret every second of it,” Harry hissed. “McGonagall will be hearing about this. Get out of my sight.”

Shooting Harry frightened looks, the group of them ran away. One of the girls fell and her friends dragged her up and hauled her away. None of them looked back.

Harry Potter in a towering rage was a fearsome thing to behold. Draco looked at him and saw the man who stood up to Lord Voldemort since he was eleven.

Harry rushed to Draco’s side. “Let’s go.”

He picked up Draco’s bags for him and wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders. Draco immediately shrugged him off and grabbed the bags from him.

“It’s my face that’s hurt, not my hands.”

Harry stopped, turning to face him. Fury had hardened his face again. He grabbed Draco’s arm and squeezed hard.

“Were those the same people who bullied you before?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said curtly and pulled away. “I’m Apparating to the castle gates.”

Before Harry could stop him, Draco twisted and Disapparated. He staggered on the spot where he landed before the castle gates and bit back a groan. Fuck, that Stinging Hex was brutal. Harry Apparated a few seconds later.

“Don’t you  _ fucking _ do that again!” Harry shouted, grabbing him by his arms. “They  _ are _ the bullies, aren’t they? Well, they are going to get what they deserve. They are never going to hurt you again!”

Draco’s composure snapped. He was in pain and he was frightened and Harry was being an overprotective berk. Draco was _not_ a damsel in distress. He could take care of himself and it was time Harry learned that. Harry saw the look on his face and stepped back, uncertain , and worried.

“I don’t need you, Potter,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “I’m a Death Eater. I’ve lived through Voldemort and I can bear much worse than childish bullying. I don’t need you to constantly watch me. I don’t need your fucking help. I am  _ not _ something soft and fragile to be coddled, you understand that? I can protect  _ myself _ and if you insist on trying to be my parent, I will punch you in the fucking face if you try to kiss me again.”

The look on Harry’s face broke, exposing something soft and enveloping and suffocating. He reached out, but Draco stepped away. Hurt glinted in Harry’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, dropping his hand. “I only … I don’t like seeing you get hurt. That’s all. I didn’t think – well, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry. I  _ know  _ you’re not soft or delicate. I only wanted to protect you, not smother you. Forgive me?”

He glanced up at Draco, green eyes beseeching. Draco inhaled sharply.

“There’s nothing to forgive, because there’s nothing to apologise for,” he said tersely. “Now let’s get back. Yelling at you hurt my face.”

“Right,” Harry managed a weak chuckle.

They trudged up the path to the Entrance Hall, Draco looking resolutely away from Harry. The Entrance Hall was fairly empty, the few people they passed giving Draco’s swollen face startled looks. He ignored them, focused on reaching the hospital wing and having Pomfrey soothe his aches.

There was a great grinding, shrieking sound. Draco looked up. The enormous black chandelier above their heads was shaking. It was shuddering and shaking, the thick iron chains groaning in protest. It tilted to a side, melted candles falling off and raining down.

Draco’s hands were full of shopping bags. He only had time to shove Harry out of the way and then the chandelier was falling. It bore down on Draco, a filthy ancient behemoth, about to crush him into pulpy mess of blood and bone s . At the same time he heard Harry scream, “DRACO!”, a voice roared, “ _ Repello _ !”.

Draco was shoved away by the spell and the chandelier crashed onto the spot near Draco’s feet. He fell in a heap, choking on dust and cobwebs.

“DRACO!” Harry pelted around the chandelier, crashing to his knees by Draco’s side. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, _fuck_ , are you hurt? Where do you hurt?”

“Just my face, same as earlier,” Draco croaked, spitting out a mouthful of grit. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Malfoy! Potter!” McGonagall strode up to them, looking severe, her wand drawn; she had been the one to cast the repelling spell. “Are you hurt?”

Draco shook his head. Harry, his arm tight around Draco’s shoulders, was deathly pale with fear and anger.

“Was it Peeves?”

McGonagall looked up at the swinging chain, where now the last link was broken. She looked exceedingly grim.

It seemed Peeves was not giving up on his desire to see Draco dead.

\---

_ You say things will be well and fine though the world around you is crumbling _

\- Passion Pit, “Where I Come From”

\---

“We have to do something about this,” Harry seethed.

They were in the common room, in a corner away from the noisy Pit. Harry paced back and forth in front of the armchairs, every line of his body radiating outrage. Draco, stretched out in his armchair, his legs propped up on a footstool, felt too comfortable to stir himself to respond. The fire crackled cheerfully, lulling Draco into a doze.

Luna sat by his legs, assembling her third Doxy trap. Weasley was on the floor with her, helping her with a puzzled frown on his face, as if he could not quite figure out how he got there. The carpet was littered with the detritus of their project – twigs, potion bottles, string , and glue.

Hermione sat on the armchair opposite Draco, frowning deeply. Ginny, Neville and Daphne were on the sofa next to her. They were all looking very sombre.

“What do you propose, Potter?” Daphne asked. “We are already following Draco around all the time as it is.”

“And you haven’t been able to find Peeves, even on the Map, have you?” Hermione asked.

Draco now knew they were talking about the Marauders’ Map, which Harry confessed he had used extensively to stalk Draco back in sixth year. Draco had to bite back his smile. This was time for serious talk, not for mooning over Harry, even if he was looking particularly snoggable with his hair all messed up in anger.

“No,  _ damned _ Peeves,” Harry was frowning forbiddingly. “There’s nothing we can do about him at the moment. The Bloody Baron and the other ghosts have been searching for him all along, but he’s not turning up anywhere. It’s almost as if … he has left the castle.”

Luna shook her head. “That’s not possible. Peeves is tied to Hogwarts. This is his domain and he can’t leave it.”

“Right, so he has to be around here somewhere. McGonagall said she had sent a letter to some expert in Norway and she’s waiting to hear back from him,” Harry said.

 

“Peeves hasn’t done this before,” Hermione said. “This problem hasn’t come up before in  _ Hogwarts: A History _ and it’s very unusual for a poltergeist to be so fixated on a single person. They are usually concerned with inflicting as much chaos as possible, and Peeves has always been more mischievous than vindictive.”

“Peeves is bloody dangerous,” Harry said and whirled around to face Draco. “What the hell did you hex him for, you git?”

“He was rude,” Draco said succinctly, feeling too peaceful to argue.

Harry glared, uncertain whether Draco was making fun of him.

“The thing is,” Hermione said, ignoring Harry, “playing silly pranks and making cruel jokes are the extent of his evil. Besides, he is loyal to Hogwarts and her students in the end. Remember, he fought for us in the Battle of Hogwarts – ”

Harry frowned at her meaningfully. She caught her breath, glancing at Draco, but for once, Draco did not feel the sting of the reminder. He continued looking at her serenely.

“How much Calming Draught did Pomfrey give him?” Draco heard Weasley mutter to Luna in a low voice.

“Yes, well, the point is Peeves doesn’t go around trying to kill students,” Hermione continued. “He must have taken great offense at what you did. You said all you did was fire a Bat Bogey Hex at him?”

“Yes, and it was nowhere near as potent as Ginny’s,” Draco said.

“That’s true,” Ginny nodded, smirking.

“Peeves is very stubborn,” Hermione said. “Once he’s set his mind on a certain course, he’ll carry it through to the end to the best of his abilities. Remember the terror he wrecked on Umbridge in fifth year?”

“Oh yeah,” Weasley grinned. “That was brilliant though.”

“So what are you saying?” Harry broke in worriedly. “Peeves won’t give in until he’s gotten his revenge on Draco?”

Granger nodded, a frown creasing her brows.

“You should leave until Peeves has been caught and reasoned with,” Harry told Draco decisively.

“I can’t. Being here is part of being out of Azkaban,” Draco reminded him.

“But it’s dangerous for you here!” Harry protested. “The Wizengamot must make an exception.”

Daphne looked amused at Harry’s optimism. “Well, I suppose they might if Harry Potter makes the plea.”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco said. “I’ve survived the previous … what, three attempts, haven’t I? I’ll just be on my guard until he’s found. I know what to expect.”

“Expect? Expect danger round every corner?” Harry asked acerbically. “That’s going to be fun for you, Malfoy?”

Draco frowned, feeling a prick of annoyance at Harry’s insistence on being difficult. The facts were that he couldn’t leave Hogwarts and that he had made the stupid mistake of goading Peeves into trying to kill him. What more could he do but to do his best to survive?

“And there’s also the matter of the damned bullies,” Harry continued, continuing to pace again. “They are  _ not _ getting the message.”

“It’s much better now, really,” Daphne said. “The Slytherins aren’t being picked on so much now that it seems Harry Potter has accepted our so-called Slytherin Prince.” She smirked at Draco.

“Then why were they hexing Draco in broad daylight?” Harry demanded.

Draco blinked. That  _ was  _ queer. The viciousness of the attack reminded him of those who succeeded, who usually blindfolded him and beat him up before the tribute plaques.  _ They _ usually attacked him from the shadows, not right in front of a pub on a busy Hogsmeade weekend. He sighed. How bloody unlucky of him, not only to have been assaulted , but also nearly murdered.

“We should confront them,” Ginny said eagerly. “Tell them to leave Draco alone.”

“I left my memories of them for McGonagall,” Harry said irritably. “She told me that she would take care of it. She said she doesn’t want any Gryffindor vigilantes.”

“If we beat them up, we’re not better than they are,” Neville pointed out.

“You said some of them were Gryffindors?” Weasley scowled, looking up from his fourth Doxy trap. “Bloody cowards.”

“McGonagall will stop them,” Hermione said soothingly. “Bullies can be kicked out of Hogwarts and what they’ve been doing is severe enough to be considered assault. If you want, Draco, you can press charges against them, you know.”

Draco shook his head, which sloshed about clumsily. He only wanted to be left alone, preferably with Harry by his side.

“You should,” Harry said fiercely, turning to walk in the opposite direction. “It’s exactly what they deserve.”

“No, I deserve what they’re doing to me,” Draco said sleepily.

There was a moment of utter, swallowing silence. Weasley, looking completely blindsided, opened and closed his mouth several times. Hermione looked uncertain and slightly panicky. Neville’s face was carefully blank. Ginny and Daphne both wore near identical expressions of outrage. Harry froze in his tracks.

“Don’t say that, Draco,” Luna said, placing a gentle hand on his leg. “You don’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Malfoy,” Daphne snapped.

“Yeah, don’t be an idiot,” Ginny said with equal bluntness.

Harry sat on the foot stool, shifting Draco’s legs onto his lap. His eyes were intent on Draco’s face. He didn’t say a word; he didn’t need to. He reached out to take Draco’s hand, his thumb gently brushing down Draco’s palm, sending a shiver through Draco.

They sat in silence for a while, the chatter from the Pit washing over them.

“What about Christmas holidays then?” Daphne spoke up. “Draco, you said you were planning to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays?”

Draco nodded. He refused to be imprisoned in Malfoy Manor again. His mother, having similar feelings, was going to visit family in France and had wanted him to go along, but he’d rather stay in Hogwarts to study. Although with the threat of Peeves hanging over his head, he was reconsidering it.

“You can’t be left alone in Hogwarts. Peeves doesn’t care about Christmas,” Harry protested.

Draco frowned. “I’ll be fine. I can work out something with the professors.”

“No, it’s not safe,” Harry insisted. “I’ll stay here with you.”

“No,” Draco refused immediately.

It was unthinkable to take Harry away from the Weasleys for Christmas holidays. He now knew Harry had little occasion to enjoy Christmas before Hogwarts, so he loathed to keep Harry from his first Christmas with no Voldemort around with the Weasleys.

“You can’t stay here alone,” Harry said fiercely. “It’ll be fine. There will be other Christmases in the future. Right now, it simply isn’t safe to leave you here alone by yourself.”

Draco felt anger jab through the peaceful fog the Calming Draught had given him. Harry was overstepping his boundaries again.

“I said no, Potter,” Draco said curtly, pulling his hand out of Harry’s grasp.

The others stared at them, Hermione glancing between the two anxiously.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Harry snapped, rising to his feet. “This isn’t about me being overprotective again. It’s common sense!”

“I don’t – ”

“You should come home with us,” Ginny said abruptly.

“I can’t,” Draco said instantly.

Intrude on the Weasley family, who had sacrificed so much during the war? Unthinkable. He wasn’t that arrogant to think Harry’s acceptance could endear him in the slightest to Molly and Arthur Weasley.

“You can, because Mum’s already agreed,” Ginny said.

“What?” Harry whirled around to stare at her.

She grinned smugly around at the looks on the faces around her. “I’ve been writing to her about Draco and how we’ve become friends and how he’s Harry’s boyfriend now – well, I expect most people would know already. I asked McGonagall, and she said Draco’s name was on the list of students staying this year – it was a very short list, there are a lot of people going home this year – so I asked Mum if Draco could spend Christmas with us and she said yes.”

“Brilliant, Ginny!” Harry exclaimed, bounding over the space to hug her; his anger had dissolved into excitement and glee.

“I can’t,” Draco repeated blankly.

“Yes, you can,” Harry retorted. “This is going to be great, Draco!”

“But – but – ”

Weasley was frowning. “It’ll be a tight squeeze. Bill and Fleur will be there, Percy too , George is bringing Angelina over and Charlie’s boyfriend will be coming for the first time. Oh, not to mention, Andromeda and Teddy will come too. And ‘Mione and  _ her  _ parents are joining us on Christmas Day. Blimey, that’s way too many people. I ‘spose I could bunk with George or Percy. No way am I going to be in the same room as the two of you.” He made a face at Harry.

“Luna will be over a lot too,” Ginny informed Draco. “She lives on the next hill, with her father. You can go hunting for what the two of you are hunting to your heart’s content.”

“I can’t,” Draco said again.

“Don’t be a git,” Harry said, sitting back down on the footstool and beaming at him. “You can and you are coming.”

“But … I haven’t got any presents,” Draco protested weakly.

Harry gave him a look of disbelief and poked him in the stomach. “It doesn’t matter, you prat.”

“We can go shopping together,” Luna promised, patting his knee. “I don’t suppose the rest of you boys have finished your shopping?”

Weasley groaned. “I’m getting there.”

“Who’s to say I haven’t?” Harry replied tartly.

“Have you?” Hermione said with some surprise.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly.

“See? No worries!” she said, smiling reassuringly at Draco.

“I haven’t either,” Neville said, shooting Ginny a worried glance.

She grinned at him impishly and said, “You do remember the necklace I said I wanted.”

A genuine look of wild panic crossed his face before he realised she was joking. Breathing a sigh of relief, he rolled his eyes. “Well, I already have something in mind anyway.”

“Really? What is it?” Ginny asked excitedly.

As the rest of the group pestered Neville – Ron with great relish – and Neville demurred, Draco sat back, unable to understand what had just happened. Luna seemed to have sensed his tumultuous feelings. Placing a hand on his knee, she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, briefly touching her hand.

“I’m glad you’re coming home with us, Draco,” she told him seriously.

“I’m glad too,” he said softly.

He glanced at Harry to see the other boy also looking at him and couldn’t help his smile. Harry was grinning widely. Whether it was Harry’s smile or the Calming Draught, Draco was floating and he didn’t want to get down.

“Well, Malfoy,” Daphne said with a wicked smirk, “it seems  that you are in for an interesting Christmas.”

\---

_ What a pity, what a sham _

\- Anya Marina, “Satellite Heart”

\---

Draco nearly died another two times before Christmas.

First, during Herbology, when a Venomous Tentacula was hidden in the Green Gorgeroot they were transplanting. Harry and he would have been bitten if Granger hadn’t had the presence of mind to use a Severing Charm. Draco tried to convince Harry to stay away from him after that. Naturally, Harry, the stubborn tosser that he was, refused.

The second time, Bloodroot Poison was mixed into a pot of tea left on Draco’s usual table in the common room. Weasley saved him by stuffing a bezoar in his mouth. Apparently, he carried one around with him every day after something that had happened to him in sixth year.

So it was with great relief when they finally left for the holidays. While he couldn’t bring himself to truly fear dying from Peeves’ efforts – the Dark Lord was gone; what could compare to that fear? – Draco was exhausted. He did his best to hide it from Harry, even though he didn’t think he was very successful.

Harry said the Burrow was unlike any home he had been in. Draco discounted it based on Harry’s lack of experience with wizarding homes. But – to Draco’s dismay – Harry turned out to be right.

Draco stood in the dusty front yard, gawping up at the five floors zigzagging into the sky. The Burrow were six different buildings stacked atop each other, topped by a narrow, pointed attic, and featuring a façade pierced with a multitude of windows in various styles. A smaller outbuilding, which contained a rusty Muggle car and weird metal artefacts that could only be Muggle, took up most of the front yard.

For all of Draco’s experience with wizarding homes, he could only say the Burrow was certainly wizarding.

“Beautiful, right?” Harry said cheerfully.

“It’s so …  _ messy _ ,” Draco said with a shrug of helplessness to express his awe.

“Oi. That’s my home you’re calling messy, Malfoy,” Weasley grumbled.

Draco turned to him. For a moment, they both remembered Draco’s brutal taunts about his family. Standing on the Weasleys’ doorstep, his past cruelty ringing in his ears, Draco felt like troll dung.

With an effort, Weasley grinned, and seized Draco’s arm. “Come on. Mum will enjoy talking about how thin you are and stuffing you with food until you puke.”

With their trunks hovering in their wake, they led Draco around the side of the house to the back garden, where a door stood open, surrounded by rusty cauldrons and old boots planted with bright pink flowers.

There was so much  _ sound _ at the Burrow. Frogs and gnomes croaked in unison in the large, intimidatingly messy back garden. From the house itself, walls creaked, and glass windows clattered. Footsteps stomped up and down stairs, a voice shouting indistinctly. As they neared the back door, Draco could make out the sounds of a busy kitchen: bubbling pots, ladles smacking against pans, cutlery being washed.

A  _ ding _ pierced through the noise and Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, face red with exertion, the infamous Weasley hair up in a messy bun.

“Ron! Harry!” she cried out with genuine gladness.

Draco drew back as she swept them into a bone-crushing hug.

“Mum,” Weasley grumbled, but didn’t pull back until she released him.

“You’re late,” she chastised. “Have you eaten your lunch? Look at the state of your robes – is that another tear? Oh, look at your new shoes! All those scuff marks, honestly, Ronald, you need to take better care of your things. And Harry, look at your  _ hair _ . I must trim it for you, I insist. You look half-starved, come in, I have some scones prepared. You too, Draco, come in.”

Draco was swept in along with the others, Harry grinning at the shell-shocked look on his face. They settled down at the long kitchen table, scones and clotted cream and jam laid out in front of them, before Draco remembered the bottle of Beetle Berry Whiskey he was clutching.

“This is for you, Mrs Weasley,” he said, setting it in front of her.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said absently, putting it on a shelf with other bottles of alcohol and pushing the scones towards him. “Here, eat.”

“Oh. Er … thank you,” Draco said, picking up a scone.

Weasley snickered, taking a bite of his cream-smeared scone. “I told you it wouldn’t matter, Malfoy.”

“Draco spent a week thinking of what to get you,” Harry said, grinning fondly at Draco. “We did tell him it wouldn’t matter.”

“It’s only proper to bring something over when you visit for the first time,” Draco said huffily, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Yes, it is. It’s very sweet of you, dear. Thank you, I do appreciate it,” Mrs Weasley smiled at him. “Ginny’s been telling me about Peeves, how dreadful. He is becoming a terrible nuisance. I couldn’t imagine you being left alone at Hogwarts without your friends, that would not have been safe at all. Ginny had the right idea, asking you to come. She’s at Neville’s now, isn’t she?” she directed this question to Ron, who nodded. “And Hermione’s at her parents’. Good. It will be nice meeting them again. Now, my dear, eat!”

Mrs Weasley looked pointedly at the scone in Draco’s hand. Hastily, Draco stuffed it into his mouth. Harry laughed at him.

As the three boys had their fill of scones, Mrs Weasley chattered about the neighbourhood gossip. Old Xenophilius Lovegood had caused an explosion a week back, which alarmed the local Muggle constabulary and the Ministry had to be called in.

Mrs Weasley’s chatter was warm and homely, fitting in perfectly with the brown, comfortable surroundings. Draco gazed around the kitchen, crowded with food smells and pots and pans, in satisfaction. His eyes landed on a large, curious clock hanging on the kitchen wall.

It was made of brown maple wood, cracked and pitted in places. Its face was blue, and words like “home”, “school”, and “work” were scrawled along the edge. There were eleven golden hands, each inscribed with a name.

“That’s the family clock,” Mrs Weasley said, noticing Draco’s stare. “I use it to keep an eye on these hoodlums. Gives me a peace of mind to know where they are. It is difficult to keep track of such a large family otherwise.”

The hands labelled “Bill” and “Fleur” pointed at “Shell Cottage”. Arthur, Charlie, and Percy were at work. Ginny was at the Longbottoms’, which Draco noticed was inscribed in fresher ink and squeezed into a corner. At home were Molly, Ron, Harry and George. And finally – the hand Draco was searching for – Fred, was at “peace”.

“As the family grows larger, I’ll have to add more hands, and more locations,” Mrs Weasley continued. “I will be adding Hermione’s name onto it soon enough.”

Harry swivelled to shoot Weasley a playful look. “Yeah, won’t she, Ron?”

Weasley hung his head, his ears red. “Shut it, scarhead.”

George Weasley came striding into the kitchen, grinning widely. “Baby brother, you’re home! Hullo, Harry!” His smile froze when he saw Draco. “Malfoy,” he inclined his head slightly.

He pulled a chair out beside Harry and began to talk to his brother and Harry about the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products popular in school this term. Draco was left out completely, but he didn’t mind. He sipped his tea, relieved that George had not kicked up a fuss.

“I am glad you are here, Draco,” Mrs Weasley said, putting her hand over his.

Her brown eyes were warm and keen. A lump grew in Draco’s throat and he blinked rapidly.

“Your family and ours have never been able to see eye to eye on anything, but when your mother came that day, to plead with Harry to speak up for you at your trial, I knew I had to convince Harry to help her any way he could. No mother should have to bury a child,” she glanced at the clock.

“Thinking of how angry Harry was just five months ago and looking at the two of you now … ” she smiled and patted his hand. “Perhaps we will learn from our mistakes this time and there won’t be a war for a good, long time yet.”

Draco couldn’t speak. He nodded helplessly. Thankfully, she didn’t press him, merely smiled gently and went to check on a bubbling pot.

“You alright?” Harry was next to him, hand warm on Draco’s back.

Draco nodded without looking at him. He stuffed another scone in his mouth and swallowed it past the lump in his throat. Harry removed his hand from Draco’s back, but continued sitting next to him, arm pressed against Draco’s. George kept looking from Harry to Draco even as he talked to his younger brother. He appeared mystified.

After a while, Mrs Weasley asked, “Boys, are you done? Go on, up and unpack your clothes, then. Draco, you and Harry will be sharing Ron’s room. George dear, help me with the gravy, will you, that’s a dear. Well, go on then, boys! I am not unpacking your things for you. Put the laundry in the basket, as usual!”

They spent the rest of the morning unpacking and lazing around the living room, stuffing their faces with sweets and Mrs Weasley’s baked goods. Ginny came back in the afternoon, and coerced the group of them into playing Quidditch with her. She, Ron, and George versus Harry and Draco, in a game of Chaser vs Chaser.

Harry and Draco were thoroughly trounced, but they had fun protesting the unfairness of the game. George had loosened up enough by dinnertime to address Draco once or twice over the dinner table.

Mr Weasley returned home after work to find Draco Malfoy amongst his children and was clearly uncomfortable, but polite nonetheless. His expression as he watched his children and Harry interact with Draco was a mix of astonishment, relief and gladness.

Draco went away to bed with a deep sense of warm fulfilment. All things considered, his first night in the Weasley household had gone extremely well. His mother had been concerned when he first wrote about his invitation to the Burrow; now he could tell her it was fine. Draco hadn’t written openly about his relationship with Harry, but it seemed Mother had already known.

“Draco?”

“Hmm?” Draco didn’t look up from his Transfiguration text; he liked to do a spot of revision just before turning in.

“Draco, Hermione isn’t here, nobody else will be impressed by how big of a nerd you are.”

Draco looked up, annoyance marring his face. Harry was sitting up in his bed, a mere arm’s length away from his. The slanted ceiling over his part of the room cast him in greater shadow. Draco had chosen his bed for its greater proximity to the lamp.

“Are you asking for a fight, Potter?”

“No, I only wanted your attention. I want to show you something.”

Harry came over to sit at the foot of Draco’s bed, wearing a peculiar expression. Carefully, Draco set his textbook aside. Harry was holding out a crumpled photograph.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A photo of the original Order of the Phoenix. Used to be Mad-Eye Moody’s. He had left it here some years ago, but Mrs Weasley found it a few days ago and she gave it to me earlier.”

Harry’s voice was detached, as if they were discussing Charms theory. Draco’s eyes were immediately drawn to the dark-haired man standing close to the middle of the photograph, arm wound around a red-haired woman waving enthusiastically.

“Your parents?” he asked, even though he knew.

“Yeah. James and Lily Potter,” Harry exhaled gustily. “Budge over.”

He slid under the covers with Draco, his right leg flush with Draco’s left. He smoothed the photograph on top of the blanket.

“They’re just  _ kids _ ,” he whispered, gazing down at the group of brave young men and women. “Think about it, my parents were only a few years older than we are now when they had me, when Voldemort went to kill them … it’s so  _ weird _ .”

“Do you still consider yourself a kid?” Draco kept his voice soft.

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

There were the distant sounds of murmuring voices, the ghoul clanking above them, owls calling in the night. In the midst of it all, Draco sat with Harry in quiet solitude.

“I think about all the kids who will have to grow up like me now,” Harry said, his eyes still on the photograph. “Orphans. Like Teddy.”

His godson, Draco’s cousin. It was strange to think Draco had relatives who were on the right side of the war.

He studied the photograph. Standing around the Potters were Lupin, Wormtail, and a handsome, arrogant-looking man with long, dark hair. From the way they stood, Draco could tell they were the Potters’ close friends.

“And this is ...” Draco pointed to the handsome man.

He regretted it almost immediately because after the words left his mouth, he saw the resemblance to the crazed, wretched creature that had escaped from Azkaban in their third year.

“Sirius,” pain choked Harry’s voice. “Sirius Black.”

Draco slipped his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling the other boy against him. Harry sank into his embrace, resting his head against Draco’s chest. Draco rested his chin on Harry’s head, breathing in the fresh, minty scent of his shampoo.

“The four of them were close, but Sirius and my father were like brothers,” Harry said quietly. “Sirius was disowned by the Blacks – you probably knew that. Spent 13 years in Azkaban for Wormtail’s betrayal … I’m not the least bit sorry about how Wormtail died.”

Draco grimaced. He had seen the corpse.

“Wormtail was pathetic,” he said.

“There are days when I feel so … heavy. It’s difficult to wake up some days. I just lie in bed and I can’t move, can’t breathe. Thank Merlin for you, Draco. It’s easier now to wake up, knowing that I have you.”

Anguish was dragging its serrated claws through Draco’s chest, leaving it weeping with blood. It was more and more difficult for him to maintain his composure in front of Harry these days, who seemed to like saying things like  _ You’re important to me, Malfoy, damnit, I won’t have Peeves kill you! _ or  _ Godric, when you kiss me like that, Draco, it feels like fucking heaven. _

_ You can’t say that _ , he wanted to scream in Harry’s face. Harry shouldn’t be allowed to say things that would make it harder for Draco to let go when the time came, because the day would come when Harry would have had enough of him. Sure ly , Harry was having fun now, this one and only time he had derailed from the expected path, but Harry’s destiny was to be great, and Draco could not be part of that.

“I miss my father sometimes,” he said harshly, desperate to remind Harry just who he was snuggling with.

Harry moved, looking up. He studied Draco’s face carefully.

“Yeah? Do you want to talk about it?” Harry took Draco’s hands between his. He looked as if he was handling porcelain.

It struck Draco that Harry was  _ concerned _ about him, that he was willing to hear Draco talk about his father, the man who tried to hand him over to the Dark Lord, who avidly believed in the righteousness of pureblooded superiority. The beast wreaking havoc in Draco’s chest was now clawing up his throat and Draco thought he might die from the pain in his heart.

The image of Harry wavered and slipped and slid before him. He blinked away the sheen on his eyes. Harry was still waiting, watching him anxiously.

“No, Potter,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want to talk about my father with you.”

Harry reached out, ran a hand through Draco’s hair, settled on the nape of Draco’s neck. “You can talk to me about anything.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Draco said savagely and placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in.

Draco kissed Harry roughly, viciously, his teeth biting down, his nails digging into Harry’s shoulders through the thin T-shirt he was wearing. Harry gasped in pain, his lips parting, and Draco dove in. Harry tasted of spearmint toothpaste and of paradise. He pushed Harry down onto the bed, pressing himself on top of him. Harry’s hands were on his waist, pulling their crotches flush against each other.

Draco left Harry’s lips for the moment, nipping along Harry’s jaw, rubbing his lips against his stubble. Harry was moaning, rubbing the front of his crotch against Draco’s. Draco could feel Harry’s growing erection and his own exhilarating response.

Draco reared up, eliciting a growl of disappointment from his lover. Harry looked particularly lewd, his face screwed up as he grinded against Draco. Draco pulled off his glasses, putting them on the bedside table, and asked, “Why have you not tried to fuck me?”.

Harry’s eyes flew open and he stopped moving. “What, do you want me to?”

He seemed gobsmacked as his cock twitched against Draco’s hip.

“So you  _ do _ want to fuck me?”

Harry’s cock twitched again. He groaned. “Merlin, Malfoy, stop saying that. Yes, I bloody want to fuck you, alright? I wank to the thought of you naked and wet – just like that day in the bathroom – spread out, begging to be taken. Yes, I  _ want _ to fuck you.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Draco had hardened further at Harry’s words but he refused to give in just yet. “You can, you know. I wouldn’t have refused you.”

“Because, Malfoy,” Harry’s hands slid down, grabbed his arse, “that time in the bathroom, you thought I wanted to have sex with you in exchange for my protection. Don’t even say you are joking – you never want to talk about that day and I saw it in your eyes that you meant it, even a little. And sometimes, when I look at you, I see you putting your walls up and I’m fucking afraid of that, alright? I don’t want to make a false move and have you withdraw from me. I can’t have that. So I would rather wank or take ten thousand cold showers than try to have sex with you and have you pull away from me.”

Harry’s eyes were intense; Draco’s skin flamed wherever those eyes fell on his face.

“You see? Like now,” Harry said softly. “You want to pull away from me.”

To prove him wrong, Draco leaned in and crushed his lips against his. Harry moved his head to the side and Draco’s lips were on his cheek instead.

“No,” Harry said and hooked his leg over Draco’s, flipping them around so he was on top. He grabbed Draco’s hands and pushed them apart, pinning them against the bed. His eyes were blazing with determination. Draco twisted, trying to move his legs, but Harry’s body was heavy on top of his and his knees were between Draco’s legs.

“You keep doing that,” Harry said softly. “When you are trying to run away from something, when you want to avoid something, you distract me with your kisses. No, Draco, I don’t want that. I want you  _ here _ with me. I want you to kiss me because you  _ want _ to, not because you don’t want to talk to me.”

“Let me go,” Draco said flatly.

“I don’t want to,” the other boy said with his infamous obstinacy. “I don’t just want to be snogging like that all the time, even though it is a huge turn-on, the way you kiss me as if it’s a fight. I want to do this too,” Harry leaned in and dropped a butterfly-light kiss on Draco’s cheekbone. “I want to be gentle with you,” a kiss on the other cheek, “I want to hold you,” a soft brushing of lips over Draco’s, “I want to look into your eyes,” a playful nip on Draco’s ear, “I want to tell you how beautiful you are,” a breath across Draco’s trembling lips. “I want to love you.”

Harry kissed Draco’s lips chastely. Their eyes were both open and they were closer than they had ever been. Harry’s eyes appeared black in the shadows.

Something broke deep within Draco and he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t go on like this,  _ wanting _ Harry so much he could force Harry to make an Unbreakable Vow to never leave Draco. He was in perpetual pain, a jigsaw puzzle of glass shards, and he would shatter.

“Let me go,” he said quietly.

Harry saw something on Draco’s face and balked. He released Draco’s hands and pushed himself up. “Draco?”

“Go back to your bed.”

“Draco, what – ”

“I’m tired.”

“No, don’t – ”

“I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

Harry tried to touch him, but Draco slapped his hand away. Harry’s face closed off immediately. His eyes, ordinarily so vivid, were flat all of a sudden. Draco could not read him.

“I’m tired,” Draco repeated.

Silently, Harry got off Draco and went to his own bed. Covered in shadows, Draco could barely make out his silhouette.

“Well,” Harry said quietly in the darkness, “we should sleep. Ginny is talking about heading to Diagon Alley tomorrow. Luna and Hermione are going to join us there. It’ll be a long day.”

Draco slid down under his covers. He turned on his side, pulling his blanket up to his chin, and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to consider the raw, bleeding emotion in his heart, the realisation what that emotion was when Harry said  _ I want to love you. _ He listened for Harry’s breathing to even out, but fell asleep before Harry did.

\---

_ Honey, you're a shipwreck with your heart of stone _

\- Iko, “Heart Of Stone”

\---

Staying with the Weasleys meant every day was a dazzling clash of colour and noise and activity. It was startling how easily Draco was swept into the Burrow’s routine.

In the morning, he would wake before Harry, and spend some time studying in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley was surprised to find him there on the first morning. She would then fix them a pot of tea and begin preparing breakfast. Mr Weasley would come down a little later.

Draco would then study quietly as the smells of frying eggs and sizzling bacon filled the air, half-listening to Mr and Mrs Weasleys’ conversations. After a while, they would draw him into the conversation, and he would set his books aside. By mid-morning, the rest would be awake, and Mr Weasley long gone to work. George would leave for the shop at the end of the morning.

Afternoon activities varied from day to day. More often than not, Hermione, Luna , and Neville would join them, for which Draco was grateful. By the second day, he worked out how to avoid Harry without seeming to avoid him to perfection. He spoke to Harry as he normally did, touching and allowing Harry to touch him like before, but he took care not to be alone with Harry, because he could tell how desperate Harry was to catch him alone.

They played a lot of Quidditch, Hermione opting to sit out with a book instead. Luna was, surprisingly, an excellent Keeper. For her lack of reach, she made up for with speed and aim. Draco took part enthusiastically; it was perfectly reasonable for him to fly away from Harry during a game.

In the evening, Draco would accompany Luna home, usually dragging Ginny with him, and spend the time before dinner exploring the lands where she had grown up. Xenophilius Lovegood had heard all about Draco and Luna’s adventures in Hogwarts and, to Draco’s great surprise, he seemed to like Draco a lot.

When Draco came up with his idea for Harry’s present, it became even easier to avoid Harry. The others would help distract Harry while Draco slipped away to work on the present. Ginny and Ron – Draco had slipped and called him by his name, to which Ron relented and said, “You’re a tosser, Draco.” – were more than happy to help.

It wounded more than Draco was willing to admit to see Harry’s confusion and hurt. To Harry, it would appear as if Draco was rejecting him. For all of Salazar’s snakes, Draco wished he could tell Harry the truth: that he must stay away because he would destroy Harry with how much he wanted him.

They hadn’t visited Diagon Alley after that first disastrous trip when a witch came up to Draco, spat in his face and accused him of using Dark magic on Harry Potter. The shopping Draco had not managed to do in Diagon Alley, he made up for with ingenuity and owl post.

In the week before Christmas, the Burrow became terrifyingly crowded. Draco could not turn a corner without encountering someone. He had been raised in the expansive grounds of Malfoy Manor and was disconcerted by the utter lack of space and privacy.

Percy was the first to come home. He was as pompous as Draco had remembered. He couldn’t tell what Percy thought about him being there, because he spoke to everyone the same way, including his mother.

In Percy’s precise contrast, Charlie Weasley flew in on a massive broom loaded with presents, looking broad, muscular and worldly. He was gregarious and warm. He brought his boyfriend, Han, an equally muscular Chinese who spoke American-accented English. Han had immediately endeared himself to Mrs Weasley by finishing all the food on his plate and saying he had not tasted food as good as his grandmother’s since leaving home.

George had brought over Angelina Johnson to stay as well. Her parents and little brother were spending Christmas in Sweden with her older sister and her family.

Bill and Fleur were the last to arrive, three days before Christmas. Draco had been dreading their arrival all week. Where were his follies clearer than on the scars on Bill Weasley’s face, mauled by the werewolf Draco had released on Hogwarts?

He stepped out into the back garden, unwilling to face Bill Weasley just yet. Everybody else was in the living room. He could hear Mrs Weasley exclaiming over Fleur’s pregnancy. Her first grandchild; Mrs Weasley was beyond excited.

“Draco.”

He didn’t need to turn to know it was Harry. The dark-haired boy came to stand with him, looking out at the rolling hills beyond the hedge. If Draco squinted, he could just make out the smoke coming from Luna’s chimney.

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake. _ After he had been so careful for the past week too. He didn’t turn to look at Harry.

“Bill doesn’t blame you, you know.”

“He should.” The words slipped out harsher than Draco had meant for them to be.

“Draco,” Harry’s voice was soft and tender.

Draco turned, terrified of what he might see on Harry’s face.

Harry was about to reach out to touch Draco’s arm. But he saw something on Draco’s face then and drew back, his face hardening into blankness. Draco hated that. He had come to rely on an honest, open Harry, one who wanted to share his thoughts with Draco. But he had no right to ask for it, when he himself was the cause of Harry’s withdrawal.

“Bill doesn’t blame you,” Harry repeated. “You must stop blaming yourself for everything.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said.  _ It doesn’t matter because I won’t be seeing Bill Weasley or any of the Weasleys after the holidays. _

Harry was silent for a long while. Around them, the house echoed with laughter.

“Draco, did I do something wrong?”

It hurt Draco to hear the apprehension in Harry’s voice.

He had done his best to deny it, to repress those feelings, but, fine, he could no longer stopper them and they bubbled out, irrepressible as champagne. Draco’s heart was full of love for Harry, and he hadn’t know love could hurt so much.

Wasn’t love supposed to be light and fluffy and pink clouds and angel wings? Why did it leave Draco feeling so wretched all the time? Harry was all he could think of sometimes and even when they were together, he still missed Harry. It was almost like he was  _ dependent _ on Harry now and he despised himself for it.

He really couldn’t let this go on any further. After the holidays, he would have to break it off, go back to his life before he truly fell in love with Harry Potter, go back to silence and stillness. But for now … for now, he had a week. Surely, he could have this week? Because  _ Merlin _ , he had yearned for Harry in the week he had been avoiding him and hearing Harry ask him if  _ he _ had done something wrong fractured Draco’s resolve.

“Draco?” Harry lay tentative hands on Draco’s back.

Draco turned and hugged him, bending his head and pressing his face into Harry’s neck, breathing his scent in deeply, his arms clasped tightly around Harry’s waist. Harry was frozen with surprise for a split second before he softened in Draco’s embrace.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Harry whispered, stroking the back of his head. “I’ve missed you.”

_ I’ve missed you too. I didn’t want to avoid you. I love you. _ Draco was choking on the words he couldn’t say. He lifted his head, looked into Harry’s green eyes and kissed the side of his jaw gently, the way he had wanted for so long.

He managed to rally a passably light-hearted tone.“Well, I  _ was _ trying to put your present together, but you seem determined to ruin the surprise, you berk.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh.  _ Oh _ . Is that it?” He laughed in relief. “Merlin, you scared me, Draco. I thought – I thought you ran away because of – because of what I said.”

Draco scoffed. “Are you implying I can be scared away, Potter?”

“No, of course not,” Harry smirked. “Not our great ferrety warrior. Didn’t you run away with your tail between your legs in third year when Hermione punched you in the face? Weren’t you also the one who whined and sobbed after getting scratched by a hippogriff? Drama queen.”

Draco made a face. “ _ Please _ . Not even the Dark Lord  had kept me from wanting you.”

Harry beamed and Draco felt warm and shaky, terrified and ecstatic all at once. What wouldn’t he do to keep this person by his side? Draco clung to the back of Harry’s robes, burying his face in Harry’s neck again. 

The world was cold, but Harry’s arms were warm around him, and Draco was afraid. He needed a distraction.

“What happened to that hippogriff anyway?” he blurted.

“Buckbeak?” Harry was running his hands up and down Draco’s back. “Well, he helped Sirius escape back in third year and he lived with Sirius since. Came back to Hogwarts for the battle and survived. He’s supposed to be mine, according to Sirius’ will, but I gave him back to Hagrid. I think he’s somewhere in the Forbidden Forest now.”

“Oh …” Draco said with some relief. “That’s good to know.”

“Don’t worry, you big wuss,” Harry said affectionately, dropping a kiss on the back of Draco’s head. “I’ll protect you from the big, scary hippogriff this time.”

Draco laughed weakly. “Determined to protect me from everything, are n’t  you, Potter?”

Harry pulled back a little, forcing Draco to look up at him. He fixed him with a serious look. “Malfoy, I’ll protect you from the world.”

Before Draco could say, “But who’s going to protect you?”, Ginny poked her head out and yelled, “Mum says to get in here, you lovebirds! Dinner is ready and Bill and Fleur want to meet you, Malfoy!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No thanks for interrupting, Gin!” he yelled back.

He turned to Draco and smiled. “Shall we?”

Draco took his hand and followed him back into the Burrow.

\---

_ I broke so many things with these two clumsy hands _

\- Eskimo Joe, “Thunderclap”

\---

Within seconds of waking, Draco was aware of three facts in immediate succession: firstly, he was in Harry’s arms; secondly, something hard was rubbing against his back; thirdly, Harry was moaning softly into his ear.

He lay still, eyes closed, luxuriating in the moment. His own cock was hard and aching. He arched his back, pressing his arse against Harry’s erection. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat and he held tighter onto Draco, grinding his crotch against Draco. A few moments later, Draco couldn’t stand it anymore and twisted around to face Harry.

Harry was awake and grinning, his pupils dilated with desire. “Morning,” he said breathlessly.

“Horny prat,” Draco growled and pushed his hand between their bodies.

He yanked down Harry’s trousers and pants, causing Harry to groan when his cock sprung free. Draco reached down his own pants and freed his erection with a soft moan. Then he pushed up against Harry, wrapping his hands around both their cocks. When their cocks touched, they gasped at the same time, Draco’s toes curling in pleasure.

“ _ Merlin _ ,” Harry hissed, a hand on the back of Draco’s head, and pulled Draco in for a kiss.

It was awkward and clumsy and they had morning breath, but they were both horny. In that hot space between their bodies, Draco stroked their cocks as their hips thrust and the glorious friction sent jolts of arousal through his body. Harry kept his hand buried in Draco’s hair, his lips pressed against Draco’s forehead, murmuring obscenities as they rutted against each other.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ , Draco, fuck, I’m close,” Harry was shuddering. He released Draco’s head to grab Draco’s shoulder.

Draco looked up, wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock, and began to pull fast and hard. He gritted his teeth; he was close too, but he wanted to watch Harry come first. Harry’s eyes were closed, those soft lips parted as he muttered a steady stream of curses. Then Draco felt something squirt in his fist as Harry yelled out and his face relaxed into an expression of utter bliss. Just like that, Draco felt the tightening and then the release of his orgasm, his cum splattering across Harry’s crotch.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he hissed, biting down on Harry’s shoulder. “ _ Fuck _ .”

They lay there, panting, soft and pliant in the aftermath, slick with cum and sweat. After a while, Draco flipped onto his back, laying his head on Harry’s outstretched arm.

“Why,” he wondered aloud, “didn’t we do that before?”

“Good question,” Harry said. “We should definitely do it again.”

“Now?” Draco blurted.

Harry chuckled. “Who’s the horny prat again?”

Draco elbowed him hard in response.

“Ow,” Harry protested, but made no move to get out.

They were both sated and happy to lie in the sunlight that spilled in from the window set in the slanted ceiling. A hard thumping on the door caused both of them to jump out of their skins.

“Get a move on, you randy bastards!” Ginny shouted. “Loads to do this morning! It’s Christmas Eve!”

She hammered on the door again. “Be down in ten! And don’t spend it snogging, or I swear I’ll tell Mum and she’ll give you the safe sex talk, you know.”

“We’ll be down immediately,” Harry and Draco said at the same time.

She laughed and they heard her footsteps thump down the stairs. Harry made a face. Draco wriggled out of his grasp and stepped out of bed to dress. Harry continued to lie there on his side, cock still hanging over the elastic top of his pyjama bottoms, Draco’s cum shining white on his pubic hair. Seeing him like that sent another twitch to Draco’s cock.

He turned away, muttering a  _ Scourgify _ over his sticky hand, and began to dress. “Get a move on, Potter. I’ll kill you if Mrs Weasley gives us the sex talk.”

“Draco,” Harry said, his voice thick. “I love you.”

Draco paused. What was Harry  _ doing _ to him? Carefully, he turned to look at Harry, who was sitting up now, his cock tucked away. He looked at Draco with fearless eyes. 

“I love you,” he repeated.

Draco took a deep breath and forced a smile.

“I know, Potter,” he said. “Now let’s go get breakfast. I’m starving.”

Harry’s face fell, but he soon rallied himself and grinned. “Can I kiss you properly then, after brushing my teeth?”

Draco pretended to consider it. “No.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be so cold. It’s Christmas Eve! Where is your spirit of giving?” Harry called after him as he left the room.

“Hurry up or I’d eat all your eggs,” Draco said over his shoulder.

Harry’s protests followed him down the stairs. As he walked, he took deep, steadying breaths, pushing away his horror and pain and despair. He could do this. He could get through Christmas and then – and then it would all be over. He could do this. He  _ had _ to do this.

Thank Merlin, Mrs Weasley kept her children, Harry and Draco busy preparing the house for Andromeda and Teddy, and Draco had no time to dwell on unwelcome thoughts. It seemed that Mrs Weasley would not be contented until her house was fit to bursting. She thrived on chaos.

Meeting Andromeda Tonks was as horrible as Draco had expected. She distrusted him , and made no secret of it, much to Harry’s displeasure. It was unpleasant how much she looked like Bellatrix, a fact that she could not have liked. Draco took care to keep out of her way. It was relatively easy to do in such a crowded home; there would always be somebody between them.

Harry was delighted to spend time with his godson and took care to introduce Draco to the baby as his boyfriend even though the child did not understand. Watching Harry with Teddy made Draco feel warm and soft, which Ginny saw and teased him for being a lovestruck teenager.

It was a mark of how much everybody at the Burrow loved Harry that they did not say anything against Draco in Harry’s presence. They wanted badly for Harry to be happy and it seemed that for the moment, Draco made Harry happy. So even though Draco caught the occasional look in the eyes of Mr Weasley, George and Angelina, who after all knew him at Hogwarts, and Andromeda, they kept their silence for the time being.

Christmas Eve dinner was a tremendous event that involved the Lovegoods and Longbottoms as well and had to be held outside in the garden. Draco chatted and laughed with Luna, Ginny and Neville, Harry’s arm tight around him. He watched Harry and, for tonight and tomorrow at least, his worries could be kept at bay.

On Christmas morning, the Burrow could not feel any more crowded.

“Happy Christmas!”

Voices rang up and down the Burrow. Beneath the Christmas tree in the living room, presents were piled up high. Everybody had been as extravagant as they could this year.

By unspoken agreement, everybody grabbed a spot of breakfast and squeezed into the living room to open presents. Draco suspected the room must have had an Engorgio Charm hidden in the walls; how else could it have held so many people?

Wedged into the space between the end of the sofa and Harry, with Harry’s arm around him, Draco watched as people closest to the tree passed out the presents. Cries of delight rang out as paper was ripped off and ribbons tossed aside. The air was full of the scent of breakfast, hot chocolate and wood smoke.

The first person to open a present from Draco was Ginny. She ripped off the green-and-red wrapping, without looking at the tag, and pulled off the box cover to reveal a hair clip: a gold-orange-red autumn leaf carved from wood.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, lifting it out, her eyes shining.

She fastened it in her hair right away. Draco saw that he had been right – the leaf fit beautiful ly in her hair. She flipped up the tag and turned to Draco.

“Thank you, Draco!” she said.

He smiled, satisfied that she liked it.

“Did you get that from Diagon Alley?” Harry asked.

“Yes, kind of. It’s a Muggle item. There’s a shop selling Muggle items down a small lane; I thought it would suit Ginny well, I knew I had to get it for her.”

“A Muggle item, eh? Is that where you got my present too?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, smirking. “I didn’t get your present from Diagon Alley.”

Harry’s brows constricted. He had been badgering Draco about it since he knew Draco had s p ent the whole of last week working on it. Draco glanced away to watch the others, hiding his grin.

He had gotten Ron a picture book on the Chudley Cannons, where he could prod players into plays he wanted to see, and a Self-Stirring Spoon with Five Speeds for Mrs Weasley which she seemed happy with. For Mr Weasley, Draco had gotten something the Muggles called “glitter glue” from the same shop he had bought Ginny’s present. The rest of the Weasley family and their partners received a variety of food gifts from Draco, ranging from chocolates to whiskey.

He received many gifts of food in return, which wasn’t surprising considering he only truly knew a handful of the people here. Ginny gave him a set of five edible underpants. She watched him unwrap it with a glint in her eyes, expecting embarrassment, but he merely raised his eyebrows, turned to Harry and said, “These will come in handy.” . He was gratified by the fiery blushes that suffused both Ginny and Harry’s faces.

From Ron, he received a handbook on wizard’s chess, written by one of the masters of the game. Draco was pleasantly surprised by it and supposed that Hermione’s influence must have been rubbing off on her boyfriend.

Through their partners, Hermione and Neville had sent their presents to Draco. The former gifted him a fine set of handsome quills, which Draco was rather excited to start using. Neville had sent him a cobra lily, saying that the flower reminded him of Draco.

Draco gingerly set aside the hissing potted plant and turned to the carefully wrapped small square box Harry dropped into his lap. Harry fidgeted nervously, green eyes fixed on Draco’s face.

Draco smirked.

With as much care as Harry had put into wrapping it, Draco peeled apart the gift wrap, a plain green paper, to reveal a white box as large as his hand. In the box, nestled on a wad of silky red ribbons, was a heavy, ornate, black-iron key. The bow of the key was a flat circle, inscribed with the elegantly scripted  _ Toujours pur. _ Always pure – the Black family motto.

Draco stared at it with incomprehension.

“It’s the key to Grimmauld Place,” Harry said quietly. “You know, the place I inherited from Sirius. I guess, technically, it’s your ancestral home too, even if it’s mine now, but anyway, that’s the key to Grimmauld Place. I – I’m thinking that after we graduate, you could move in with me. You were saying that you want to find a job in London and Grimmauld Place is in London and you want to move out of Malfoy Manor, so I thought – ” he inhaled deeply. “I thought you could – move in – with me.”

Draco had once said he had never hated Harry before. He couldn’t, he thought. He was wrong; he loathed Harry Potter in this moment more than he thought possible. Draco’s heart twisted and withered away in the cold that stole over him.

He had accepted the fact that, yes, Harry thought he had feelings for Draco. Perhaps between snogging and spending so much time together, Harry had fancied himself in love with Draco. He couldn’t have meant to; Draco was only supposed to be a temporary phase.

Draco had accepted that because he knew Harry Potter was the sort of foolish, honourable person with too much love to give and too much willingness to forgive. That was why Draco knew  _ he _ had to be the one to protect Harry and he would have to walk away before the poison set in too deep, before Harry truly believed himself in love, before Draco truly tainted him.

But this.  _ This. _ Giving Draco a key to his house? Moving in together? He was planning for a future with Draco and that was unacceptable. Draco’s hand was shaking. He wanted to throw the key in Harry’s face, wanted to dig his heart out and offer it to Harry and tell him to just kill it already because he didn’t want these feelings anymore.

Harry was gazing at him nervously. Was he afraid that Draco would turn him down?

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Harry said hurriedly, reaching out for the box.

Draco moved it away.

“I want it,” he said, grateful that he sounded calm. He forced a perfunctory grin onto his face.

Relief dawned on Harry’s face, bright and golden. He wrapped both arms around Draco, leaning in to press his lips to Draco’s jaw.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he murmured into Draco’s skin. “I was afraid you’d think I’m moving too fast. I didn’t ask the others for advice because I knew they’d think I’m crazy, that I’ll scare you off. They seem to think you are very easily scared off.”

“Oi! The rest of us don’t want to see that!” Ron shouted from across the room.

He picked up a flat book shaped package , and tossed it to Harry. “Here, this is from Draco.”

Harry caught the package and flashed Draco a smile. It seemed to Draco that the whole room was watching them as Harry unwrapped his package. They probably were; most of them knew what Draco had been arranging, and had helped him keep the surprise from Harry. Draco kept his eyes on Harry’s bent head.

The silver paper fell apart to show a thick, leather-bound photo album, its spine still stiff from newness. Instead of photos, Harry opened it to reveal letters. After reading the name on the first letter, Harry looked up quizzically at Draco. He wouldn’t recognise the address.

“Read it,” Draco said.

The first letter would be from Dennis Creevey,  the  brother of Colin Creevey. Harry didn’t speak of Colin’s death much. Whenever he did, his face and voice would grow broken as the bleakest, emptiest landscape, until Draco would fear Harry losing his way in the grey emptiness forever. Draco could see the skeletons that dug their bony fingers into Harry whenever he thought of the schoolmates who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

It didn’t matter how many people Harry saved, because he could only ever see the number of people he hadn’t saved.

So Draco asked Luna to place a full-page advertisement for a special project the  _ Quibbler _ was working on, asking people to write about the ways Harry had saved them. They had only had two weeks, but Harry Potter was such a force that Luna, Xenophilius ,  and Draco had had hundreds to sort through.

Harry looked up at Draco again, his eyes bright with tears. “You made this?”

Draco shrugged. “Ron, Ginny, Luna and her father helped.”

Harry gave the quiet room a hasty glance and, heedful of Harry’s embarrassment, the Weasleys picked up the chatter again, giving out more presents and tearing them open. Harry closed the book and leaned over to give Draco a gentle kiss. The kiss was so sweet Draco’s teeth ached. Harry took Draco’s hand and wouldn’t let go.

The rest of Christmas Day passed in a blur of overeating and indulgence.

Draco’s mother had sent over a large basket of French sweets to thank the Weasleys for taking her son in. For Draco, she had sent a beautiful leather-bound journal, to record his “new happiness”.  _ Oh, Mother, if you only knew _ , he thought _. _

Hermione introduced Draco to her parents as “Harry’s boyfriend”. The Grangers, already overwhelmed by the magic of the Burrow, appeared unfazed.

The Grangers were the first Muggles Draco had met. He was wary but, in the end, Draco realised that the Grangers were no different from any other parents. They were simply parents and hardly interesting for that. He could sense Andromeda’s eyes judging him throughout the duration of the meeting.

He waited for an outburst and, after dinner, Andromeda approached him when he went into the living room to fetch his scarf. The others were waiting outside for him, to complete the number of a Quidditch game. She came in after him and closed the door behind her.

Draco stopped, taking in the sternness in Andromeda’s eyes, and knew there was no avoiding her. She might have looked like Bellatrix, but her bearing was close r to Narcissa’s. She wore the look Draco’s mother would when she was determined to have Draco do something her way.

“You will be punished for using Harry like this,” she said without preamble. “If you think what you suffered at the hands of your master is bad enough, you wait until I am done with you, my dear  _ nephew. _ So I suggest this: when you break up with him, let him down gently, or I swear upon Morgana that I will  _ break _ you, and his friends will be right there along with me, to watch you burn.”

Draco regarded her steadily for a bit before he answered, “I am not using Harry.”

Andromeda held up a hand. “You can stop pretending in front of me. I grew up with your mother after all. Any trick she knows, any trick she taught you, I learned as well.  You might have fooled him for now, fooled the Weasleys, but the truth always comes out in the end. Why do you insist on using people for your own gain? Have you not learned your lesson?”

Of every accusation Andromeda shot at him, the one that cut the deepest was her thinking he was using Harry to rescue his family name. She thought Draco still saw value in the Malfoy name.

She continued, “Oh, you are smart, boy, I give you that. You saw that Harry is vulnerable and lonely and you went for it. If you have any humanity left in you, you will not hurt him anymore than you already have. I would have thought you of all people would have left your enmity for Harry in the past. He saved you so many times. How could you bear to do it?”

Draco’s heart was thunderous in his ears. When he spoke, he could barely hear himself over the roar of his heart.

“ _ Because _ he saved me so many times. Do you think I should be grateful for that? I  _ hate _ him for it and somewhere deep within me, I do want him to hurt for trying to be my hero. He offered himself to me, what could I do? I had to take it, it made sense. I was being bullied and I was on the brink of breaking down and there he stood, ready to be my hero again.  _ Of course _ I would use him. He was asking for it. Besides, he was – ”

There was a thump from the door, like something had fallen against it. Draco and Andromeda spun around.

“Who’s there?” Draco demanded.

The door opened and Draco felt the blood freeze in his veins because Harry Potter stood there, pale and trembling, horrified and unimaginably anguished.

“The – the others are – waiting,” Harry spoke jerkily, his eyes never leaving Draco’s.

When Draco didn’t respond, Harry tore his eyes away and vanished into the gloominess of the hallway. Draco stood frozen. Andromeda grabbed his arm.

“Don’t you dare go after him. It’s better to end it earlier than later, for him to see you for the scum you really are now,” her words were vitriolic and, this time, Draco welcomed the pain of it because she was right.

She released him and shook her head, putting to words that which he had been thinking, “What have you done, boy?”.

_ What have I done? _

\---

_ Goodbye, my hopeless dream _

\- A Fine Frenzy, “Almost Lover”

\---

On Boxing Day morning, Draco told Mrs Weasley that his mother had returned from France earlier than expected and that he was returning home to accompany her. The lie was easily swallowed. As Draco tossed his things into his trunk, Harry sat on the next bed and watched him. The silence between them seemed impenetrable. Draco couldn’t look at him for fear of what he might see.

He dragged his trunk down to the yard and with Ginny, Ron and Hermione’s good-byes ringing in his ears, Apparated to the cold, empty Malfoy Manor. The house elves were surprised to see him and hastened to make the house habitable. They watched him carefully, not trusting him not to set the rest of the manor on fire after the gallery incident.

Draco lay on his bed and concentrated on the warp and weft of the canopy. Carefully, thoroughly, he took all his feelings and thoughts about Harry Potter and locked them in a trunk at the back of his mind. That was over and done with.

It was over because Draco knew that for all his kindness and forgiveness, Harry could be harsh and stubborn, and Draco had done the worst possible thing to him. Draco Malfoy had managed to do the one thing that even Lord Voldemort had failed to do: he had taken Harry’s love and twisted it. To Harry, for whom love played such a crucial role throughout his life, such a thing would be unforgivable.

He spent the rest of the holidays studying. He barely slept. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Harry’s pained face so he tried not to close his eyes at all.

Returning to Hogwarts seemed both easy and hard at once.

It was easy because Draco  now had Daphne and Astoria to distract him. To their credit, they took one look at his face and didn’t ask him anything beyond “How were your holidays?”.

It was hard because, like Harry, Ron and Hermione had withdrawn their friendship. They stuck with Harry, occasionally giving Draco confused glances. Ginny – and Neville to an extent – was adamant about finding out what had happened, but Draco had nothing to say to them. He noticed that Ginny questioned Harry too, however, after a month of questions neither would answer, she gave up on it and fell into outraged puzzlement. Luna never said a thing;  she merely continued to meet Draco for their Saturday hunts.

To Harry, Draco no longer existed. It wasn’t careful avoidance like before. Draco could be in the same room as Harry and it wouldn’t matter. Harry wore a polite, slightly puzzled expression whenever their eyes happened to meet, as if he no longer cared. It was worse,  _ far _ worse than having Harry hate him openly.

In the beginning, Draco would torment himself by catching Harry’s eye on purpose, just to see if he might spark some sort of emotion. However, Harry’s eyes slid past him because Draco was now below his notice. By the end of the week, Draco loathed himself. His Dark Mark bled constantly and he had to wrap a bandage around it to stop the blood from seeping through his robes.

His studies became the center of his world. When he wasn’t studying in the library, he was studying in the empty common room. He avoided the Great Hall and went to the kitchens instead. When he did sleep, spells and incantations and formulas danced in front of his eyes, for which he was grateful because it meant he didn’t dream of Harry.

With the retraction of Harry Potter’s friendship came the removal of his protection and the bullies returned. Once again, Draco walked around with his wand clutched in his sleeve, looking over his shoulders. Daphne, Ginny, Neville and Luna continued to stick close to him, but they could not accompany all the time and, while he managed to escape most of the time, it was inevitable that Draco would be attacked.

Within a month after the holidays, Draco got beat so badly he could not shush the ghost that went screaming down the corridor about the dead body in front of the tribute plaques. He was brought to the hospital wing, where he was given a sleeping potion and fell in a pleasant sleep, devoid of nightmares. He even dreamed a nice dream, where Harry sat by his bedside, stroking his hair, dropping light kisses on his bruised face and promising to seek vengeance on his attackers.

The next day, even though he hadn’t said a thing, four students were expelled for assaulting him, three sixth years from Ravenclaw and a fifth year from Gryffindor. He couldn’t reason how McGonagall had known who they were when he hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of his attackers himself.

After that, the bullies no longer took him aside for special beatings. Casual, opportunistic harassment - tripping him in the corridors or ripping his bag open - continued. Oddly enough, Peeves stopped his attempts to kill him, so Draco had one thing to be grateful for at least.

So, for the next three months, Draco existed in a world where he no longer meant a thing to Harry Potter, where he studied far too much, slept poorly and ate too little, where he continued to watch out for bullies no less than before.

He wrote Mother chirpy letters, telling her about his studies, and when she asked about Harry, he wrote back pretending Harry was still in his life.

Draco would sit in the common room in the darkness, watching for Harry, but he never saw Harry come down. Once, he fell asleep in his armchair and woke abruptly to the feeling of a hand on his face. He looked around, but he was alone in the common room. He sat and pressed his palms against his eyes, reminding himself that he had given up crying. After he calmed down, he packed his things and went to sleep in a cold bed.

A second time, he fell asleep on top of his notes at a secretary. In that hazy world between sleeping and waking, he thought he could feel someone touching his hair. When someone leaned in to brush their lips against the back of Draco’s neck, he smelled spearmint shampoo and thought  _ Harry. _ It was too pleasant a dream to wake from so he burrowed back into sleep.

Every morning, Draco woke up and told himself that he was fine. Every morning, he believed it less and less, as days, weeks, and then months flew past. But there was nothing he could do and he knew he deserved it.

Three months and fifteen days into a world where Draco was once more scrabbling on rock shards, desperately holding it together with bloodied fingers, everything went from  _ cracked _ to  _ decimated _ .

Draco was walking back from the library, a careful hand on his wand, books on his other arm, when a dark-haired Ravenclaw girl barreled violently into him and he staggered backwards, his books falling out his arms and flying across the floor.

“Hey!” he shouted, drawing his wand to point at her.

She threw him such a glare of deep, dark hatred he could not breathe. Her loathing was venom, scalding against his skin, putrefying his flesh and reminding him of the most rotten parts of himself. He was scum. He was carrion. He should die.

She pointed her wand at him. “ _ Crucio. _ ”

And he was on fire. His skin crackled and curled and fell off strip by strip. His bones were liquefied and his eyeballs were melting. He screamed, high and endless; he could feel his life spiralling out of him, riding on that scream into the air. He was an inferno of pain and he wanted to die.

His body twisted and jerked, out of control, and he bounced up and down on the stone floor. His wand fell out of his hand. His head cracked against the floor and white-hot pain exploded across his vision. Instead of clearing, the whiteness rapidly receded into darkness. Grateful, Draco relinquished his hold on consciousness and faded away. 

\---

_ When you're at the end of the road and you lost all sense of control _

\- Green Day, “21 Guns”

\---

As Draco drifted, his mind whirled and made connections. The image of those hateful, dark eyes flashed before him over and over again. He saw them on the stairs just before they malfunctioned. He saw them in the library, lurking in the corners. He saw them amongst the crowd that cornered him outside Hog’s Head months ago.

She had always been there, always watching him.

She was one of the bullies, the successful ones.

She wanted him dead.

She was the one controlling Peeves.

It took a hard blow to his mind to see the connection. When the bullies managed to hurt him enough, Peeves’ attacks wouldn’t happen. When Peeves manipulated the magic of the castle to kill him, the bullies seemed to step back.

They were one and the same and all led to her.

But why?

“Wake up,” a familiar voice said as a foot dug into his side.

It occurred to Draco in a flash. This was the voice who told the bullies when to flee because someone was coming, the look-out. The voice who always decided when to stop the beatings.

“Wake up!” she shouted then and kicked him harder.

He groaned involuntarily and opened his eyes slowly. Even his eyelids hurt. He was lying on a cold stone floor, unbound. But she didn’t need to bind him because he hurt everywhere and she had his wand anyway. She marched over to him and yanked the back of his robes, forcing him into a sitting position. He gritted his teeth, swallowing his yelps.

They were in a small, grey room. There was nothing but a door, four walls and a small chandelier overhead. The girl stood between him and the door, his wand in the right pocket of her robes, her wand pointing at him.

There was a pale bundle on the floor next to him. He looked at it  better  and recoiled in horror. It was Peeves, his eyes closed. He looked dead. 

“What have you done to him?” Draco asked, his voice cracking.

“Why do you care, Malfoy?” the girl sneered. “He’s just a poltergeist. He’s not even a wizard. Don’t you and your kind want to enslave all non-wizards? The Muggles, house elves, centaurs,  _ Mudbloods _ ?”

Draco stared at her. Her dark eyes were lit with the same kind of fervour he had seen in Death Eaters, the kind of mania they had just before they executed a kill. She would kill him and enjoy it. Her mouth stretched into a grimace, waiting for his reply. When he wouldn’t give her one, she backhanded him.

Not expecting it, Draco fell over, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and cutting it. He coughed, his head ringing, braced against the floor on his elbow.

“Get up,” she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him up again.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked.

He spat out blood and it splattered against the front of her robes. “No.”

She released him, took a step back and screamed, “ _ CRUCIO! _ ” .

Draco couldn’t tell how long he was under the curse this time. His brain was wreathed in pain and he was curled up on himself, a thousand knives cutting into his skin and a thousand needles knitting him together and a thousand knives slicing him open again. He only knew when she lifted the spell because he felt he could breathe again.

The mist lifted from his vision and he was face-first against the stone floor in a pool of his own vomit and saliva. He couldn’t even move.

She rolled him onto his back so he could see her face  as she bent over him.

“My name is Rowena Dearborn.” She lit her wand tip with  _ Incendio _ , the small flame dancing merrily. “I’m a pureblood, but my boyfriend, Xavier Tee, was a half-blood.” She touched her wand tip to Draco’s chest.

He twitched, clenching his teeth when he felt the heat sear against his skin, but his body was still too sore and heavy from being  _ Crucioed _ .

“During the war, his wand was taken away and he had to run. They found his body in a ditch two months in to your master’s new regime. He had been  _ Crucioed _ and he had been  _ Imperiused _ to eat his own shit.”

She dragged her wand down his chest, setting his robes on fire. A scream tore out of his throat and he rolled over clumsily, putting out the fire. He was face-first into his own vomit again. She kicked him back onto his back, extinguishing her fire spell. Stepping on his hand, she ripped off the front of his charred robes, exposing his reddened, scalded skin.  _ Merlin, no, no, no, no. _

“During the Battle of Hogwarts, my older brother Robert remained to fight and when he died, nobody even bothered to make grand speeches about his sacrifice. My mother hasn’t left her bed since he died. Do you see, Malfoy? How many people have suffered because of you and yet – you continue to live.”

She lifted her wand and said, “ _ Flagrate. _ ” .

She began to write on his skin in fire. He screamed, thrashing beneath her, but his limbs felt too heavy and his mind was too sluggish and he was on fire again. He screamed and screamed until his throat was raw and bloody and he continued to scream as she scratched into his skin,  _ Death Eater _ .

He was losing consciousness again, but before he could slip away happily into the darkness, she slapped him and pulled him back to the present.

“Do you see now, Malfoy? Do you see why you must die?”

“You are insane,” he whispered through bleeding lips. “They will send you to Azkaban for this.”

“Will they?” Her lips twisted into a cruel smile. “They set you free, didn’t they? Oh, but I forgot. Harry Potter set you free. Who knew Potter was a pouf? What did you have to do to get him to set you free, Malfoy? Did you promise to suck his cock every day for the rest of your life? Or is  it  the other way round – does Potter like taking it up his arse? Our great hero, nothing but a stupid little slag!”

Through the haze of pain, through the wishing for death to take him away, Draco felt a spark of red-hot anger. She had no right to say his name like that. His name should never have to pass through the mouth of such a hideous person.

And at the thought of Harry, Draco broke the promise to himself. He began to cry.

Rowena Dearborn burst into laughter and she pressed her foot against the branded  _ Death Eater _ and ground her heel in. Draco screamed and his throat burst into flames.

“What is this, are you crying over your boyfriend, Malfoy?” she asked. “Didn’t you get dumped three months ago? Ah, but Potter was the one who reported Timmy and the others to McGonagall, who got them expelled. Four good people expelled for  _ your _ sake, Malfoy.

“In a way, you have Potter to thank for this. I would have been contented to simply beat you up now and then, but you had to go and suck Potter’s cock, and people began to talk about you as if you should be forgiven for everything you’ve done.”

“ _ NO _ !” her scream echoed across the room. “NO, YOU CAN NEVER BE FORGIVEN! Not for all the people you’ve tortured, all the people you’ve killed. All Death Eaters should be dead, dead, dead, just like their master! And I will personally send you to him, Malfoy. No need to thank me for that. Just doing my best to save the world.”

Rowena Dearborn pointed her wand between Draco’s eyes, her face a pale mask of hatred and grief and pain. Their eyes met and in that moment, Draco forgave her.

Just like him, two years ago, this was the only path she thought she had and she took it. She was blinded and she was desperate and she was scared out of her mind. If he must die for her to feel better, so be it. He was tired anyway. He was so tired. He just wanted it all to end.

His only regret was that he would never see Harry again, that he never got to tell him  _ I love you too. _

Draco closed his eyes.

In that moment, the door burst open and a voice roared, “ _ EXPELLIARMUS! _ ” .

A second voice shouted, “ _ Stupefy _ !” .

Someone ran into the room, collapsed to the ground by Draco’s side, moaning, “Draco, Draco, please, please,  _ please _ .”. Hands were fluttering over his chest, his face, his arms, as if he was too afraid to touch him.

Draco opened his eyes to see Harry bent over him, his face white. When Harry saw his eyes open, he cried out in joy and grabbed Draco. Draco screamed because the movement felt as if his skin was sloughing off his flesh and iron wedges were being hammered into his brain. His vision blacked out.

\---

_ The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you _

\- Hozier, “Take Me To Church”

\---

When Draco woke up two days later, it was Daphne  who was holding his hand, slumped over the side of his bed, snoozing. He moved his hand and she woke up slowly, rubbing her eyes and blinking at him blearily.

“Good morning,” he said.

She stared at him with incomprehension for a moment, then she tightened her hold on his hand. “You stupid little fucker. How dare you make me worry like that!”

He grinned. His amusement immediately veered into horror when Daphne Greengrass began to wail at the top of her lungs. She was absolutely furious with him, she assured him,  _ absolutely furious _ , because when he was brought in, sweet Salazar, she thought he had died. But she was relieved that he had woken up, that that stupid Potter had saved him in time.

Her wailing eventually brought Madam Pomfrey running – and his mother, he saw with a plummeting stomach. Mother didn’t say a thing. She merely folded Draco into her embrace and cried quietly into his hair.

Daphne sat there and cried as well and Draco realised with a sudden warm jolt that Daphne Greengrass was truly his  _ friend _ .

Over the next three days, Draco received a steady stream of visitors: Ron and Hermione – she was the one who fired  _ Stupefy _ – Luna bearing a cage containing his Dust Doxy, Ginny and Neville, the Slytherins, his roommates.

McGonagall dropped by too. Rowena Dearborn had masterminded all of Draco’s attacks. She had been the one to put Peeves up to taunting Draco by promising to let Peeves into the Prefects’ bathroom. After Draco hexed the poltergeist, she decided to use Peeves as an excuse to rid the world of Draco Malfoy. Peeves had been  _ Imperiused _ and commanded to twist Hogwarts’ magic to suit Dearborn’s revenge. She was going to be sent to St. Mungo’s for psychiatric evaluation and after that, the court would decide her fate. He only nodded wearily.

His mother didn’t leave his side and they talked more than they ever had since the war ended. They talked about Lord Voldemort, about the false belief in pureblood superiority, about missing Father, about Andromeda and Mother’s grand-nephew, Teddy, about making amends, about selling the manor and moving into a smaller, kinder house.

By the time Draco was well enough to move around again and Mother was reassured enough to leave, she was relaxed enough to tease him. “And where is your Mr Potter? I thought I would have to fight him for your attention. They said he was quite distraught when he brought you in.”

Draco rolled his eyes and kissed her on her cheek. “Good-bye, Mother. I’ll see you in the summer.”

“Good-bye, Draco. Study well, but don’t you forget to eat again. You are too thin,” she said with an affectionate smile.

He stood at the top of the Great Hall steps and watched her make her way down the gates, where she gave him a final wave and Disapparated.

He made his way slowly back to the eighth year dorms.

Harry hadn’t visited him once in the past five days – at least not during the day. On the first night, Draco was awakened by a familiar touch on his face and when he opened his eyes and saw nothing, he remembered that Harry had an invisibility cloak. So he simply closed his eyes and pretended to fall back asleep.

After the first night, he knew to wait for Harry. But beyond sitting down at his bedside, brushing his fingertips along Draco’s hand or face, Harry didn’t say anything. That meant he was still avoiding Draco. That was alright. There was nothing like almost dying to give one fresh perspective and reckless courage.

It was time for a Slytherin to be a little Gryffindor-ish.

“Malfoy!” a high-pitched voice called.

Little Avery and an entire troop of his students came running down the hallway towards him. To his astonishment, they all threw their arms around him – or at least, the girls did. The boys hung back and shouted about how glad they were to see Draco alive.

Laughingly, he managed to detach himself after a while. “Yes, yes, if this is an attempt to suck up to me, forget it. I still expect to see your essay on Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration on Thursday.”

They cried out in protest.

“What if I have some information that will be useful to you?” Avery challenged, sticking her chin out. “Will you give us until next week then?”

Draco smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, well, the little snake is learning. Alright, but only  _ if _ the information is useful.”

She levelled him with a solemn look and said, “Harry Potter is down at the Quidditch Pitch.”

Draco stared at her in astonishment before bursting into laughter. “Alright, you win! That  _ is _ useful information. Fine, you have until next week. Go away and don’t bother me in the meantime!”

He sent them along and stood there watching them in amusement for a while before shaking his head and turning around to head towards the Quidditch Pitch. Avery represented all that was good and proud of Slytherin House.

Harry was on his broom in the air. Draco took a seat in the stands and watched him. Harry really was an extraordinary flier. It seemed as if he was made for the sky. As he watched Harry catch and release the Snitch to go after it again, execute dramatic rolls and dives in mid-air, some of the old fear returned. What if Draco  _ was _ too late?

_ No _ , he pushed the fear away as Harry began flying towards him and landed on the stands a distance away. Even if he was too late, he would still try.

They stood on the stands, staring at each other. Harry’s hair was tousled from the wind and his cheeks  were  reddened. He looked the way he did at the end of his first Quidditch match – like he was about throw up.

“Hullo,” Draco said.

Harry jerked as if he had fired a small Stinging Hex at his arse.

“You are – You look –  _ Draco  _ – your mother – ” Harry kept cutting himself off as if he could not decide how to best start this conversation.

Draco strode forwards and closed the distance between them. He placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and like that one time Draco had pressed Harry up against the wall, there was the flash of trepidation on Harry’s face. This time, Draco understood it. It was fear of being given a taste and losing control. His heart soared. Harry still wanted him.

He kissed Harry gently and leaned back, dropping his hands from Harry’s shoulders. He looked him straight in the eye, straightened his back and said, “I love you.” .

There was a silence so long and still, Harry’s eyes locked on his face, that Draco thought Harry hadn’t heard. “I said, I love you.”

Harry blinked, wet his lips. “What?”

Draco sighed. He was going to have to completely embarrass himself, but he supposed  _ this  _ time he truly deserved it.

“I love you and I’ve loved you since … November, Merlin, that’s four months now. But if you want to be more specific, I’ve been … unhealthily obsessed with you since … huh, since we first met in Madam Malkin’s seven years ago. Of course, I disliked you for most of those seven years and had an insane crush on you in sixth year and, well, let’s not talk about seventh year.

“My point is, I love you, Harry Potter, and I will love you even if you tell me that you never want to see my face again. I might cry, of course, but I’ll still love you. I love you so much that even if all you want with me is sex, I don’t care, I’ll take it, because I’d do anything to be with you. I love you because you are too good. I love you because you can be stubborn and irritate the fuck out of me. I love you because you’re a good kisser – well, I don’t have much to compare that against, but you’re good to me and – ”

Draco didn’t get to finish speaking because Harry had put his hands on Draco’s shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss was hard and urgent and desperate. Draco held Harry by the sides of his face and pushed as hard back against Harry as Harry was bearing down against him. Their mouths opened, their tongues meeting, hot, slick, thrusting, and Draco’s hands were in Harry’s hair, and Harry’s arms were crushing Draco to his chest.

When they pulled apart, Harry continued to hold him, their chests pushing against each other with each breath. Draco latched onto Harry’s neck, tasting the salt of his sweaty skin, sucking hard until Harry moaned and pushed him away.

“Let’s get down,” Harry said in a strangled voice.

They rode Harry’s broom down to the pitch, Draco’s chest flush with Harry’s back, his cock rubbing against Harry’s arse. When they landed, Harry tossed aside his broom, yanked Draco in and proceeded to kiss Draco thoroughly and deeply, his hot tongue tasting every inch of Draco’s mouth.

They parted then Harry was pulling Draco into the locker room and Draco was laughing.

“What?” Harry looked back at him.

“Do you have any idea how many fantasies I’ve had of ravaging you in the locker room?” Draco asked.

“How many?” Harry wanted to know, pulling his robes over his head and standing in front of Draco in his pants.

“Countless,” Draco said, running his eyes down Harry’s fit body, down to the bulge in his pants. “Am I dreaming?”

“Shut up and get your robes off, Malfoy,” Harry snapped impatiently and disappeared into the showers.

Draco could not get his robes off quick enough. When he reached the showers, Harry was standing under a stream of water, stripped of his pants, his cock in his hand. Draco paused, his breath catching in his throat. Harry’s head fell back against the tiles as he stroked himself, the water sluicing off him. He opened one bright, green eye and growled, “Get in here, Malfoy.” .

So Draco did the only thing he could think of doing. He knelt down in front of Harry, pushed his hand aside and engulfed the head of Harry’s cock in his mouth. Harry moaned, his knees buckling. He caught himself against the sides of the shower stall.

“ _ Merlin _ , Malfoy.”

Draco peered up at him and saw eyes dark with lust, teeth gritted with restraint, and Draco wanted nothing more than watch that face lose control. He began to bob his head up and down, hands on Harry’s thighs. Harry’s hips thrust, driving his cock deep into Draco’s mouth, and Draco choked, tears springing to his eyes. He pulled back, coughing, wiping his eyes.

“Fuck, Draco, I’m so sorry,” Harry bent, reaching out for him, but Draco pushed him back, grabbed his cock and began to lick the shaft from base to head. “ _ Draco.  _ Oh,  _ fuck _ .”

Draco hadn’t given a blowjob before but he could imagine. He worked slowly, licking up and down, pausing to suck on Harry’s balls, which earned him a gasp and a hissed “ _ FUCK! _ ”. He slid his tongue across the engorged head, across the slit, and tasted Harry’s pre-cum. Then he enclosed the head of Harry’s cock in his mouth, wrapping a hand around the shaft, and sucked hard as he moved his hand up and down.

One of Harry’s hands was braced against the side, the other buried in Draco’s hair. He was swearing loudly, as steady as the water beating down on them from the showerhead.

“Draco – ” Harry said and this time, Draco had warning and was prepared when Harry thrust forwards and began coming right in Draco’s mouth.

Draco did his best to swallow, but most of it he spat out when Harry pulled out, the white mess swirling on the wet floor as Harry knelt down, pushed Draco down on the bathroom floor and stuck his tongue into Draco’s mouth. Harry’s hand wrapped around Draco’s aching cock and he began to pull as he plundered Draco’s mouth.

Harry dropped kisses on the sides of Draco’s mouth, his hand wrapped hot and tight around Draco’s cock. Draco thrust his hips along with his movement, moaning helplessly.

“Your filthy, talented mouth,” Harry was whispering. “Merlin, I love your mouth, Draco, the things you can do with it, the things you say with it. You drive me crazy. I fucking want you, I want you all the time, I can’t stop thinking about you, I love you, I love you, Draco,  _ fuck _ !”

Draco’s orgasm swept through him, tearing a scream of pleasure from his throat, and he was coming in Harry’s tight fist, his nails digging in Harry’s back, his head thrown back.

They lay on the bathroom floor, Harry half on top of him, floating in the golden haze of post–orgasmic bliss. The water was still running.

“Get off me, you’re heavy,” Draco pushed at him.

With a groan, Harry fell onto his back with a splash. They lay there, panting, staring up at the showerhead, blinking away water.

After a moment, Draco said, “This is a really filthy place to have sex.”

“Probably,” Harry agreed.

Silence.

“We’re doing it in bed next time.”

“Definitely.”

Silence. Deep breaths.

“Why did you say you hate me?”

Draco reached out, took Harry’s hand. “It’s hard to tell the difference between hate and love sometimes, especially when it comes to you. I love you, I really, really love you. The only way I could have convinced myself to accept your offer of friendship was to believe that you were using me.”

“ _ I _ was using you?” Harry rose up on his elbow, gawping down at Draco. He looked outraged.

“Well, you said something about not wanting to be what society expects and you said something about them not expecting us to be friends,” Draco said. “I thought you were only using me to shock people – because we’re  _ definitely _ shocking.”

“You complete prat,” Harry was indignant.

“I know better now,” Draco hurried to say. “And I said I was using you because well, I was to an extent, wasn’t I? You kept the bullies away from me.”

Harry huffed and dropped his head onto Draco’s chest. “Well, alright, you can use me there as much you want. Like I said, Malfoy, whether you want to or not, I am going to protect you from the world.”

Draco began to stroke Harry’s head. “Fine, I’ll let you. In return, I’ll protect the world from you.”

Harry snorted. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, you berk, that you aren’t allowed to go around risking your life to save the world, at least not without me by your side.”

“Yeah? You want to save the world with me, Malfoy?”

“What’s the matter? Scared, Potter?”

Harry raised his head, smirking, slipped a hand under Draco’s head and kissed him.

“You wish, Malfoy.”

\---  **_END ---_ **

  
  



End file.
